


Overflow

by Severely_Lupine



Series: Wentworth's Children [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 43,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severely_Lupine/pseuds/Severely_Lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A variety of extra scenes from the world of my long fic, "Hermione Granger and the Intended Vessels", set before that story, within it, and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Creature Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> These are extra scenes I wrote for HGatIV, some of which are alluded to in that story. Others are seemingly random. Some of them can be understood well without reading that longer fic. Many of them show glimpses of life after the story. If you feel particularly like you want to read more about a particular character or subject after reading these, please tell me in the comments. I've got longer stories I'd like to write in this world at some point, and it would be helpful to know which characters from my story people would be most interested in reading about.
> 
> These definitely contain spoilers for HGatIV, though, so if you haven't read that and don't want to be spoiled, you probably shouldn't read most of these yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape, in disguise, meets a big black dog on the road from Hogsmeade.

March 12, 1995

 

Snape slogged down the muddy road from Hogsmeade, clutching the small brown bag more to keep his hand occupied than because he really meant to eat the leftover food later. He was not one to fidget, but it was only natural to occasionally lay a hand on one’s leg or brush dirt off of the lapel of one’s robes, and he already felt skeevy enough as it was.

Polyjuice had never been one of his favorite potions. Anyone who didn’t know him very well might think that a man as ugly as he was would relish the chance to look like anyone else for even a short time. But Polyjuice didn’t actually change who he was, only who he looked like. Though, granted, there were times—now, for instance—when the opportunity to actually _be_ someone else was one he would jump at, should it truly present itself. He wouldn’t mind at all not having to be around whinging brats all day, not living in a heart that was cold and cracked due to the actions of a foolish youth, and currently, not having his arm ache constantly with the reminder that said foolishness was not something he could ever really escape.

It had started soon after the school year did. First it was only a slight tingle, something he brushed off for nearly a month before he noticed the first shadow of ancient lines retracing their paths on his forearm. By Christmas, it was obvious what was happening. The Dark Mark was returning, and that could only mean one thing: the one who’d given it to him was returning, as well.

Karkaroff was no help. All the coward wanted to do was hound him for information he didn’t have so that he knew which direction to run when the time came. And for good reason, Snape supposed. Karkaroff’s odds of convincing the Dark Lord that his cooperation with the Ministry had all been a ruse were about as high as the odds of Fenrir Greyback becoming a Muggle pop star. Along with being a coward, the Bulgarian was a terrible liar and even worse Occlumens.

Still, he had the right idea in one thing. Information was needed. If someone had found a way to resurrect the Dark Lord, Snape wanted to know how. More than that, he wanted to know _who_. Which of his former colleagues had the wherewithal, cunning, and desire to bring their former master back from the grave? A few names came to mind: the Lestranges, Crouch, Rookwood... possibly Mulciber. And all of them, the ones who truly had nothing to fear from the Dark Lord, were in Azkaban, where they were deprived of wands and anything else that might conceivably be used to perform any but the most basic magic. That meant it had to be someone who had managed to escape imprisonment. The problem was that most of the Death Eaters who fit into that category did so by giving information to the Ministry or claiming Imperio, neither of which the Dark Lord would look too kindly on. Of course, Malfoy was an obvious choice. He had mostly avoided Azkaban with a few well-placed Oblivates and large amounts of gold.

But it may not necessarily even be a Death Eater. There were certainly a number of sympathizers to the cause who, for various reasons, didn’t go as far as to take the Dark Mark. Unfortunately, spending nearly all his time at Hogwarts, Snape was too far away from any of them to get a lay of the land, so to speak. He needed to know what was going on among the free Death Eaters and others who might have any reason to want the Dark Lord back in power. He needed someone he could trust, someone on the inside, someone who would have noticed if any of her reluctant acquaintances had been acting strangely.

Which is why Snape currently found himself disguised as a fourteen-year-old girl.

Sneaking into the girls’ dormitory and rooting through a teenager’s belongings for a bit of stray hair had made him feel fully the creepy, slimy git that so many of the students seemed to think him. But he sucked it up and did what he had to. Spying was a dirty business and he’d been out of practice for too long. He was just glad that Miss Rosier had such a distinctive hair color. It would not have done at all if he’d accidentally found himself transformed into one of her classmates—one that he _hadn’t_ made sure to send on an important errand for the duration of the afternoon.

Things would have been so much easier if he could have met Henrietta Rosier as himself. Unfortunately, if she did pick up on anything going on with the Death Eaters, she knew far too much about them (her husband having been one and all) to think that Snape would end up as anything but dead or Dark by the time the dust settled. It had been a difficult task getting any information out of her even in this form, but in the end he’d been able to establish only that the other Death Eaters seemed to be feeling their Marks return, as well. If there was anything other than that, Henrietta didn’t know anything about it. It was less information than he’d been hoping for, but enough that he felt it worth the effort.

He scowled to himself, remembering how close he’d come to not being able to pull off this little deception at all, thanks to Harry-bloody-Potter. If he’d waited another month to brew the potion, he would have been forced to track down more boomslang skin, since the last of his supply had been recently stolen.

He’d suspected Potter as soon as he detected the gillyweed missing from his store, and now that he’d seen it used for that asinine Triwizard Task, he was certain of it. He’d be willing to bet a large sum that it had been Potter—or one of his cronies—that stole the boomslang skin, as well. The last time some of that had gone missing, Granger had ended up in the hospital wing coughing up hairballs. It seemed the miscreants were giving Polyjuice brewing another try. Snape thought Potter’s time would be much better served trying _not_ to get himself killed in that pointless competition—though he wouldn’t put it past Potter to do just that merely to spite him.

Snape’s internal grumbling was disrupted by a sudden sound just off the road to his right. He pulled his wand, instantly on guard and visually scanning the surrounding area. There was no one around that he could see, though there was a small shack near the wooden fence that ran along the side of the road. By the sound of things, something was moving beside it.

He inched around the shack, senses on high alert and wand at the ready, until he could see what was on the other side. He relaxed only slightly.

_Just a dog_ , he thought with some relief. Only then did he realize that he was so on edge, he half-expected the Dark Lord to simply pop out of the bushes.

It was, however, a terribly large dog, and Snape had never been particularly comfortable around animals of any size, let alone ones whose shoulders were level with his thighs (or so was the case, at least, in his current form).

The pathetic creature was rooting around in a rubbish bin, making the most ludicrous pig-like snuffling sounds. Snape took a step back and his foot squelched in the mud. The dog leapt back from the bin, looking as startled as Snape had been just a moment ago. The dog froze in place and looked at him. His wand still pointed at the dog, Snape remained still, waiting to see what the animal’s next move would be.

Then, very slowly, the dog raised its nose in the air and took several short, quick sniffs, then seemed to look very pointedly at the bag Snape held in his hand.

Snape glanced at the bag, then back to the dog. “Hungry, are you?” he asked the dog, and nearly winced at the high-pitched sound that issued from his throat. He’d got used to speaking with Miss Rosier’s voice when talking to her mother, but it had been almost ten minutes now since he’d heard it and it was a bit jarring.

In response, the dog dropped onto its belly, put its head between its forepaws on the grass, and, in a move that seemed (if Snape didn’t know better) calculated to elicit the most sympathy possible, laid one ear to the side and looked up at him imploringly.

Snape harrumphed and set the bag on a fence post. Never taking his eyes off the dog, he dug out the flimsy metal bowl of half-eaten rice and chicken, moved a few feet toward the dog, set the bowl on the ground, and backed away.

The dog leapt up and ran to the bowl, tail wagging and tongue lolling out, then dove into its meal with the enthusiasm of a starving man. Its tale wagged wildly as it ate, as if Snape’s discarded lunch was the most delicious thing it had ever tasted.

Snape should have taken this opportunity to make his escape, now that the dog was otherwise occupied. He’d _meant_ to do just that. But suddenly he found he couldn’t take his eyes off the large animal.

With the long hair, it was not immediately apparent whether the dog was male or female, and he didn’t care to look too closely. Based solely on the size, he would guess male, but he hardly knew enough about dogs to be certain. It was terribly gaunt, like it hadn’t eaten well in months, though that fact was somewhat disguised by the long fur that swished as it moved. A certain resemblance forced itself into Snape’s awareness. Suddenly the dog reminded him of someone else, someone he knew very well... someone who also disguised his pathetically thin body with an imposing shroud of black.

Before he knew what he was doing, Snape found himself sitting on the wooden fence, his wand laying harmlessly beside him. He watched the dog inhale its meal and wondered what had brought it to this. Did it have a home once? A family that loved it? No, Snape didn’t think so. It looked like the sort of dog who’d never really had a home, who’d always been on the outside. Maybe it, too, had come from the wrong side of town. And yet, it appeared friendly enough. Perhaps someone had loved it once. Someone who wasn’t here any more.

“How do you do it?” he said suddenly, surprising himself. The dog looked up at him. Snape found himself amazed that his simple words had managed to distract the dog from a meal it so obviously relished, so the least he could do was clarify. “How are you so happy?”

The dog cocked its head to the side and regarded him for a moment, then walked toward him slowly, keeping low to the ground, looking up at him. Snape didn’t know much about animal communication, but it was obvious even to him that the dog was trying to say _It’s okay, I won’t hurt you._ His question was whether or not to believe it.

Snape watched carefully as the dog approached him, his hand sliding to his wand, just in case. When it got near enough to touch, the dog sniffed at the hem of his robe. Snape put his left hand down by the dog’s nose, and it sniffed his hand as its tail began wagging vigorously again. When Snape didn’t yank his hand away, the dog sniffed up his arm as high as it could reach, then suddenly its forepaws came up and Snape nearly fell backward off the fence. But the dog, which had just wanted to rest its paws on the fence beside him, looked at him and barked. Its tail was still wagging and its tongue was again hanging obscenely out the side of its mouth. Snape could have sworn it was laughing at him.

The dog was big enough that Snape was now looking it in the eyes. It looked back at him quite happily, panting heavily in his face. Snape just about gagged from the foul stench coming from the canine’s jaws. He put his hands on either side of the dog’s neck, meaning to shove it away from him, but the dog seemed to think that was some signal that he wanted to play.

Before he knew what was happening, the dog had shoved its head at Snape’s face and licked him from chin to ear.

“Agh!” Snape cried, and this time he did fall off the fence.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but the dog had already raced around the fence and was leaping around like Snape had just rang the starting bell at the Quidditch World Cup. Every time Snape tried to so much as sit up, the dog would lunge at him and lick his face, then dart away before Snape could swat at it. He groped around for his wand, but it remained on the top of the fence where he’d left it.

“Accio wand!” he cried as the dog jumped back from its latest attack. Then the dog leapt over Snape’s body, snatched his wand from mid-air, and pranced away.

“Get over here, you lousy mutt!” Snape shouted, finally finding his feet. “Bring that back this instant!”

The dog ran several meters away, back on the other side of the fence and into the field, before spinning around and facing Snape again. Snape’s wand was held firmly between its rows of large teeth.

“So help me, if you snap that, I will have your hide,” Snape threatened. The dog’s tail was wagging in furious circles now and— _Wait, can dogs smile?_

“Accio dog!” he shouted, but his attempt didn’t so much as make the dog’s fur shift.

The dog happily bounced around, always able to stay well out of Snape’s reach as he chased it through the grass. Sometimes it would get close enough for Snape to feel like he almost had it, then it would bound away, making what surely could not be sniggering sounds.

After several minutes of feeling like a total fool, as well as wishing he was back at his normal height, Snape realized he was only playing into the dog’s hands (well, paws) and stood in the grass with his arms crossed, staring the dog down. After a few more laps around him, the dog seemed to realize he wasn’t playing any more and stopped running. It stood there, just out of arm’s reach, and looked disappointed.

“This is the thanks I get?” he asked it. “I give you food and you take my wand? I should have expected as much.”

To his astonishment, the dog bowed its head, crept forward, and dropped the wand directly at Snape’s feet. Then it stepped back, sat, and looked at him with its ears flat out to the side.

Snape snatched the wand from the ground and inspected it. There wasn’t a mark on it. Not waiting for the dog to take it back, he stowed it safely in his robes.

As he glared at the dog, it flattened onto its belly and looked up at him, its ears as flat out as they could get, and put both forepaws over its muzzle. Again, the meaning was clear.

Snape had never been a dog person, and this was part of the reason. They were so quick to grovel. Having had some experience groveling, he hated to see any creature willingly demean itself so... even one as pitiful as this dog.

“Get up, mongrel,” he huffed. “I’m not your master.”

The dog rose to its feet, tail wagging, but head still bowed, as if to say _I’ll be good, really._

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh and held out his hand. As the dog started to bound over, he snapped it back and said, “No more licking! I know what you do with that tongue.”

The dog stopped, sat back, and looked—if Snape had to put a word to it, though he knew it was impossible—affronted.

He put his hand back out in front of him and the dog went up and nuzzled it until Snape started petting the dog on the head. Its fur was wiry and damp, but soft. The thought crossed his mind that the dog could use a bath... then he remembered how many times people had muttered similar things about him, and he thought that the dog seemed perfectly happy as it was.

Again, he found himself wondering if the dog belonged to anybody.

“All alone out here, are you, dog?” he asked, trying to make himself sound disapproving and indifferent, but the girl’s voice simply wouldn’t cooperate.

The dog started sniffing him again and poked its nose into his side.

“I suppose no one even bothered to give you a name, did they?” he asked, but the dog didn’t seem to respond to that question. It just kept sniffing him, its nose buried in his robes. The dog’s nudging was beginning to make him laugh. He mentally cursed the girl’s ticklish ribs. “ How will I know who to report you to, if you don’t belong to anyone?” He also cursed the girl’s voice for sounding so weak.

At his words, the dog backed away immediately and stood straight, its ears pricked, and the fur between its shoulder blades stood up a bit.

“Oh, very well,” he sighed. “I will refrain from reporting you. After all, if you have no name, who shall I say is running amok on the road to Hogsmeade?”

The dog bounded toward him, wagging its tail happily, but refraining from licking him. Instead, it stuck its nose into his side and continued with the short, quick sniffs, working its way up Snape’s side until its forepaws were off the ground and its nose was buried in Snape’s presently-orange hair, snuffling happily.

Snape was positive that Evelyn Rosier must have particularly sensitive nerve endings, as the dog’s onslaught soon had him fighting back a fit of highly uncharacteristic giggles and he had to push the dog away before it totally ruined any self-respect he still had.

When the dog was safely back with all four paws on the ground and its gratitude sufficiently expressed, it sat quietly while Snape stroked its head and tried to recover from the disturbing experience.

He looked down at his hand as he pet the dog and realized with a start that the sleeve of his robe was a centimeter shorter than it had been a few minutes ago. Or rather, that his arm was a centimeter longer. The Polyjuice was wearing off. He needed to get back to Hogwarts before he changed back.

“Look there,” he said, pointing to the bowl which still had some food in it. “You’ve missed some.”

The dog looked at the bowl, then loped back over to it and started eating the remainder, at a more leisurely pace than it had before.

Snape sneaked around the fence, hoping the dog wouldn’t hear and come after him. But once he was on the other side and a few meters down the road, he turned back to look at the dog and allowed himself a half-smile.

“Goodbye... Snuffles,” he said. The dog looked up at him and met his eyes for a second, then wagged its tail happily and returned to eating. Feeling strangely satisfied and in better spirits than he had in months, Snape turned and hurried toward the school.

 


	2. Lupin Makes a Sandwich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin is enjoying his honeymoon. Snape stops by to make him feel bad about it.

August 12, 1997

 

Remus Lupin couldn’t say for certain what dragged him out of a rather pleasant dream involving Sirius, James, and a secret tunnel to a candy store that put Honeyduke’s to shame. All he knew was that one moment he was nibbling on a particularly decadent chocolate truffle and the next he found himself lying naked between cotton sheets with an equally naked young woman sprawled across his chest.

Dora’s cheek was resting over his heart, her left arm flung around his waist, her soft breasts pressing into his side. He smiled fondly as he gazed at her pretty face, lax with sleep, her mouth hanging open slightly. Every few seconds, a slow puff of air slipped between her lips and brushed tantalizingly across his right nipple.

His arm snaked around the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. He was torn. Part of him knew she needed her rest after the past few nights, and he did enjoy watching her sleep. The other part of him was eager to resume the activities that had worn her out in the first place, and having her soft, warm, lovely body pressed against his was a luxury he was unaccustomed to.

He knew which part would win.

She stirred in her sleep, rubbing herself against him, and his already-hard penis twitched in anticipation. It had been three days since their wedding and still he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Nymphadora,” he purred.

Mumbling something unintelligible, she stirred again, but didn’t wake. He gently rolled her onto her back, kissing her neck softly as he positioned himself above her. He hoped he could hold off entering her until she was at least moderately coherent, but in truth he didn’t have quite that much faith in his self-control.

He bent his head to kiss her mouth, but before he reached her lips, there was a loud knock on the front door. With a sudden flash of hindsight, he realized _that_ had been the sound that had woken him.

“Bollocks,” he muttered, sliding off the bed, careful not to wake his wife. He pulled on a hastily-discarded pair of trousers and padded out into the hallway, shutting the door silently behind him.

When he reached the front room, he hesitated, realizing that it could be rather embarrassing to open the door half-naked and with a raging erection. “Who is it?” he called.

“Open the bloody door!” came the irritated voice of Severus Snape.

Remus grimaced and looked down. _Well, problem solved._ He absently smoothed the front of his trousers with one hand, erasing any sign of their recent tenting, and opened the door.

“What is it, Severus?” he asked tiredly, hoping it sounded like he’d only been disturbed from sleep.

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. His lip curled. _No, not fooled for a second._

“Enjoying your _honeymoon_?” Snape sneered, making it sound like honeymoons were one step away from child molestation. Which, Remus supposed, was probably not far from how Snape saw this situation. _And he can’t be the only one._ With a pang of self-loathing, Remus keenly recalled the way Dora’s smooth, perfect skin had felt against his old, battered body.

The weariness in his tone was quite real this time. “If you’ve only come to mock me, Severus, would you please just go?”

“Very well,” Snape snapped, turning to leave. “Enjoy tearing your wife’s throat out in a week.”

With a start, Remus saw that Snape held a goblet in his hand, and a jolt of adrenaline rushed through him.

“Wait!” Remus lunged at Snape, grabbing his arm before he could get away. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Forgot,” Snape supplied, yanking his arm from Remus’s grasp.

“Yes, I forgot,” Remus confessed, looking at the ground in shame. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair. “This was a mistake. How could I...” With a shake of his head, he gave up. It wouldn’t do having that old argument with himself while someone else was standing there, waiting. “Come inside, please. But try to keep your voice down. Tonks is sleeping.”

“I have no desire to lounge in your hovel, Lupin.”

Remus brushed off the insult. He’d seen Snape’s house and knew it wasn’t much more impressive than the run-down cottage behind him.

“Just come in and let me fix you a cup of tea,” he implored. “I know you’ve come a long way.” There was no fireplace in the cottage, and since the potion would be upset by Apparition, Snape must have flown. Remus spied a broom leaning against a tree a short distance away, confirming his assumption.

Just then, the skies opened up and rain began soaking Snape’s hair and cloak.

Snape glowered at Remus for a moment as if the werewolf had called down the rain himself, but swept past him into the cottage, muttering, “No tea.”

Remus followed him in, grateful to be out of the weather. Though it was still summer, his Scottish cottage was far enough north, and high enough in elevation, that there was still a healthy chill in the air, and a sudden downpour wasn’t unheard of.

“Would it be poor manners to request that you put on a shirt?” Snape asked snidely, setting the goblet on the small table, then taking a seat in a faded green arm chair that looked like it was as old as he was. “Nymphadora may enjoy gazing upon your cadaverous body, but I assure you, I do not.”

Remus grabbed a jumper from the hall closet and pulled it on, once again ignoring Snape’s insult because he knew Snape could as easily have been talking about himself. Neither of them had ever been particularly well-fed. Speaking of which...

“I’m going to make breakfast,” he informed his guest, going to the refrigerator and inspecting its contents. “Would you like any?”

Snape only glared back at him. “It is nearly one in the afternoon.”

A faint flush burned Remus’s cheeks. He really ought to have noticed the time before as good as telling Snape he’d been so tired from shagging his wife all night that he’d slept past noon. He tried not to let his embarrassment show.

“Well, lunch then,” he amended, as if it had merely been a slip of the tongue. His hand, already reaching for the eggs, altered course toward the sandwich meat.

“I am not hungry,” Snape said sharply. Remus wasn’t surprised. “Nor would I eat anything from _your_ hands if I were dying of starvation, wolf,” Snape added. _Now, that was uncalled for._

Remus set out the sandwich fixings on the counter, making sure Snape was looking at him before pointedly taking the goblet and drinking the contents, his eyes locked on Snape’s until he tipped the goblet up to drain the last of it. It took all of his willpower not to react to the disgusting taste.

Snape continued to stare at him, unmoving, as Remus started making himself a sandwich.

Remus wondered why Snape didn’t mention Dora being given the DADA position. Remus had felt quite a large swell of pride when Dumbledore made the offer. That he would entrust her with training students in one of the most important subjects, particularly with the war going on, and particularly at her young age, was quite a compliment. The part of him that was still a teacher was practically giddy with the knowledge that some of his own students from his time in the position would still be there. He couldn’t wait to compare notes as she got to know them. He hoped Umbridge and Barty Jr. hadn’t set them back too badly... although Barty had apparently done a good enough job to not let on that he wasn’t Moody, and Harry had seen to it that the children got valuable lessons behind Umbridge’s back. Some of the children, anyway.

He almost brought up the good news, but thought better of it. If Snape didn’t know he’d been kicked out of the position he’d coveted for years in favor of his twenty-five-year-old former student, Remus certainly didn’t want him finding out now, especially with Dora asleep, naked, and wandless just down the hall.

“I’m sorry we didn’t invite you to the wedding,” Remus said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “It was a quiet, family affair... which unfortunately just meant Dora’s parents, us, and the minister. And, of course, a Ministry official.” He frowned. He really would have preferred that bug-eyed little man hadn’t been there, but someone had to make sure the marriage law was being carried out all right and proper.

When he looked at Snape again, the other man was looking at him dubiously. “You would have invited me to your wedding?”

“We would have invited all the Order, of course,” Remus said. “Despite our past, Severus, I do consider you an ally.” Snape mumbled something under his breath and shifted in the chair. “Incidentally, how did you find out?”

“How else?” Snape muttered. “Albus. The old fool does so delight in his meddling.”

Despite Snape’s dark mood, Remus smiled. “Oh, Dora had already asked me to marry her even before this P.E.W.S. nonsense, so you can put any notion of him recommending me to her out of your head. You weren’t there at Bill’s bedside after Greyback attacked him, or you’d know she’d had her mind made up for some time. But Dumbledore did manage to convince the Ministry to grant Tonks’s request. He _should_ be happy about it.” Then he sighed. “I’m just not so sure I should be.”

“Having second thoughts?” Snape asked, a vindictive smile spreading across his face.

A head of lettuce lay half-peeled on the chopping board as Remus leaned heavily on the counter with both hands.

After a long moment, he spoke softly, staring at his partially-made sandwich. “I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you if I told you I’d never had a woman before Nymphadora. What woman in her right mind would want a werewolf, after all?” Snape snorted, not in disagreement. Remus looked across the room at him. “I’d given up hoping for anything like this long ago. But Tonks is just so... _stubborn_.”

“Truly, your life is the picture of tragedy,” Snape drawled, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Remus had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Yes, there had been a great deal of tragedy in his life. Being cursed with lycanthropy before even starting school, losing his best friends only a year after losing his father, being a lonely outcast for most of his life, finding out his one remaining friend wasn’t the traitor he’d thought he was, only to lose him permanently two years later... but somehow winning the love and devotion of a young, beautiful, talented, marvelous witch? He laughed again. His life had not been this good in twenty years.

He resumed what he was doing, absurdly cheered by Snape’s snide remark. “You’re right, of course. But there are others for whom this outrageous law really is a life-changing burden. Poor Hermione, forced to marry some strange wizard no one even knows about. I can’t understand why she isn’t telling anyone who it is. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

“I have not been told the man’s name,” Snape snapped, suddenly irritable. But he hadn’t dismissed the question as irrelevant, which Remus hoped at least meant he held even a portion of the same concern the rest of the Order did.

“There were no clues left at Grimmauld Place when Harry and Ginny moved their things in,” Remus continued, putting the food back into the fridge. “Though why she needed to borrow it, I can’t imagine. Surely a man specifically chosen for something like this would have the means to own a house of his own, or at least take her to a decent motel.” He closed the fridge door and stared at it, remembering. “And the way she cried at Harry’s wedding... She must have thought people would mistake them for tears of joy, but I know despair when I see it. I’m worried about her, Severus.”

Snape was almost to the door before Remus noticed.

“Severus?” he asked, startled.

“I believe the weather has let up,” Snape ground out, though Remus could still hear the rain pattering against the windows.

Snape pulled the door open and wrapped his cloak around himself. Seeing he was going to march out immediately, Remus grabbed the silver goblet and hurried to catch him at the door. He had to practically shove it at him before Snape noticed and snatched it out of his hand.

“Thank you, Severus,” Remus said, looking him in the eye and hoping Snape believed him.

“Next time, Apparate to my house for your potion, wolf,” Snape barked. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to continue delivering it to your doorstep.”

With that, he stormed out into the rain, not even making it to the tree where he’d left his broom before Summoning it to himself and flying away.

Remus closed the door before the rain could get the floor wet. _That was odd_ , he thought, then shrugged it off. In retrospect, he was amazed things had gone as smoothly as they did. Since when did he discuss his thoughts and fears with Severus Snape? He shook his head. _I must really be missing James and Sirius._ Of course, if he’d shared his thoughts about Dora with _them_ , they’d have called him stupid for worrying about it and encouraged him into some mischief to make him feel better.

He sighed. He was far too old for mischief, anyway.

He took the few steps back to where he’d left his sandwich and started thinking it might be nice to make Dora something and bring her breakfast—well, lunch—in bed, when he heard soft footsteps coming down the hall.

“Is he gone?” she called.

“Yes,” he answered, picking up his sandwich. “He was just bringing me the Wolfsbane Potion. You know, I—” He looked up at her and the sandwich fell back onto the plate.

“What’s for lunch?” she asked, striding casually into the kitchen area as if she weren’t stark naked.

Remus felt his trousers tighten immediately as he watched her move, her pert breasts jiggling with each step, her pink hair an absolute mess from all their lovemaking, her eyes glinting with mischief. He stood frozen in place, gaping at her.

 _So perfect_ , he thought. Her body was so smooth, so firm, so lithe yet rounded in exactly the right places... she couldn’t possibly be his. He didn’t deserve her.

“What have we got?” she asked, going to the fridge and poking her head in. She leaned over so far, pretending to want a closer look (though Remus could have listed off the few items in the fridge from memory), that she was bent at nearly a right angle, her perfect bum staring him in the face.

His eyes grew wider and his erection grew harder. Despite her innocent façade, she knew exactly what she was doing. In the animal kingdom, they call it _presenting_. At that moment, he felt every bit the animal that, deep down, he knew himself to be.

The lack of self-control he’d worried about earlier chose that moment to assert itself. With a low growl, he crossed the few feet toward her, hardly aware of his own movement, coming to stand mere inches behind her.

“I think we need to go shopping,” she observed, standing up and shutting the door, taking a small step back as she did so. That step brought her flush against Remus’s body, his erection nestling nicely between her bum cheeks beneath the fabric of his trousers. He growled again. “Really, Remus,” she said in a chastising tone, but he could hear the smile in her voice. She was still smiling when she turned on the spot and faced him. “Is this really the place for that?”

He raised his eyebrows. Was she refusing him? Had he misread her? Was wandering around naked in her own home a normal thing? He didn’t know if he could get used to that.

“Is it?” he asked uncertainly.

Her smile broadened and all trace of innocence disappeared. “I think it is.”

He matched her grin and his fears vanished. “Good,” he said, his voice uneven, “because I don’t think I could have made it back to the bedroom.”

She moved her arms up to wrap around his neck, but he stopped her. At her questioning look, he smiled again. “I think,” he said, and slid his hands down her arms, pushing them down to her sides and resting his hands on her shoulders, then turned her around, his muscles twitching from the focus it took to be gentle with her, until she was standing with her back to him. He pressed lightly on her back until she was bracing herself against the refrigerator with her arms. “I rather liked this view.”

He slid his rough hands down the smooth curves of her back to rest on her hips. Her low moan as he did so made it nearly impossible for him to keep his movements slow, but he managed it. Keeping one hand on her hip, he unfastened his trousers and freed his penis.

He hesitated for just a moment. Was she ready for him? He didn’t think he had the patience for proper foreplay. He sniffed the air. Oh, yes. She was ready.

Dora arched her back, angling her vulva toward him even more, and gave an impatient groan. He didn’t need to be told twice. Finding her entrance, he positioned himself, returned his hand to her hip, and thrust his hips forward, driving the entire length of his penis into her at once.

She gasped, and he groaned. He still couldn’t get over how tight and warm and soft she was, and how unbelievably, heart-stoppingly _good_ it felt to be inside her. He wanted to make love to her slowly, to cherish every moment, prolong every movement, shower her with kisses and caresses, and show her with his meager, unworthy body that she was the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. No, not woman. Goddess. He wanted to worship her with every gentle touch he knew and then find new ones to bestow on her.

But not now. Later, once they’d returned to their bed, he would make sweet, passionate love to her. Right now, he wanted to fuck her.

He didn’t care for such harsh language, and he wouldn’t use it under most circumstances, even in his mind, but sometimes, there was simply no other word that as fully captured the meaning of something. Because the way he moved against her, and in her, at that moment, huffing and puffing, pounding himself into her body with all the energy and strength he possessed, thrusting with wild abandon, more beast than man—and the way she met him stroke for stroke with equal vigor—was most definitely not lovemaking. It was fucking.

Perhaps it was the waxing of the moon, or the reminder of what he truly was that the Wolfsbane Potion, the foul taste of it still in his mouth, gave him, but he knew that some part of his behavior, of the wild, instinctual way he was acting, must be because of the wolf inside him. The fact that he could not form a rational thought must surely be because part of him was not a rational being... and that part was being given far too much freedom.

Perhaps that explained the guilt he felt after he finally lifted her by the waist and slammed her against the refrigerator. He held her there, her feet not even touching the ground, as he drove into her, panting against her shoulder, incoherent with his own pleasure, until finally the shocks of bliss subsided. Then his weakened muscles eased her down until her feet touched the floor and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

As he felt himself slip out of her and he slid to the floor, working to catch his breath, the guilt covered him like a blanket. Had he hurt her? Bruised her? Broken her teeth against the front of the appliance? He didn’t know, and for that he loathed himself.

He looked up at her. She was still standing, which was a good sign. She was leaning against the fridge, catching her breath as well. Everything seemed to be intact and undamaged.

But had it been good for her? Had she enjoyed it? He hadn’t even been paying enough attention to know if she’d climaxed. He couldn’t imagine how she could have. He’d been so rough, using her like an object for his pleasure, treating her like an animal, _behaving_ like an animal. He covered his head with his hands. The wolf had seen her, wanted her, and he’d given her to it. She must hate him.

His hands fell to his lap and he quickly tucked his limp penis back into his trousers as he prepared to face her, screwing his eyes shut, trying to think of words to form a proper apology. “Dora, I’m so—”

Before he could finish, he felt soft lips press briefly against his mouth, and he opened his eyes to see her crouched in front of him, her eyes still full of mischief but now also looking at him with the sort of utter adoration a beast like him would never deserve.

“Wow, Remus,” she said, still sounding slightly out of breath. “I had no idea you had that in you.” Without waiting for him to respond, she stood up and started opening cupboards.

 _That’s the problem_ , he thought miserably, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Hey, are you gonna eat this?” she asked. He looked up to find her pointing at his sandwich and looking at him with raised eyebrows. He couldn’t put his head together to respond before she picked up the sandwich, took a bite, and carried it off.

Shaking his head, Remus laughed humorlessly. He didn’t deserve her, he shouldn’t have her, but he loved her. He couldn’t refuse her anything. Not even what he most should: himself.

He was a weak man.


	3. Evelyn's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has a proposition for Evelyn Rosier.

September 6, 1997

 

The streets were crowded with eager children hurrying from one door to the next as if they’d never been allowed outside before. Evelyn Rosier stood in the window of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, watching the ridiculous bustle with an impassive, bored expression.

Having a Hogsmeade weekend on the first weekend back at school seemed to her, frankly, ridiculous. So what if the world was more dangerous now and they wanted to keep kids from staying out past dark? Why not just have one at the usual date and cut it short? How much time did they need for stocking up on candy and joke items, anyway?

“Is there something I can help you find, miss?” asked an old wizard in an ink-stained robe.

Evelyn shook her head. “Just looking, thanks.” The wizard took the hint and left her in peace. There were only a couple other people in the shop, so she was hardly surprised at getting bothered. It almost made her wish she needed something, but unlike the other children searching through the shelves, she’d come to Hogwarts prepared. She was only there to wait out the crowds until she could browse the few shops she was interested in without having to wade through the throng of students. A few more hours, she figured, and they’d be thinned enough to spend about half an hour shopping before it was time to return.

As she watched people moving on the street, she noticed Professor Dumbledore slip out the door of Honeydukes, sucking on what she presumed was a lollipop of some kind. She shook her head in amusement. Not many wizards could get away with such childish indulgences while maintaining such a powerful reputation. As she watched him, Dumbledore turned to look directly at her and winked. _Well, that’s odd_ , she thought, her brow furrowing. _Since when does the Headmaster give me the time of day?_ He surprised her further by giving what looked like a discreet beckoning nod.

Her curiosity piqued, she exited the shop and pushed her way through the crowd, following him down the street. She began to doubt that she’d seen him beckon her at all when he never even turned his head to see if she was following, but she had nothing better to do, so she kept going. He turned off on one of the side streets where the crowd thinned considerably and Evelyn could move with greater ease. After several yards, she realized where Dumbledore was headed.

Finally, just before he crossed the threshold of the Hog’s Head, he looked at her, smiling, and headed in.

She’d been to the Hog’s Head before, certainly. She’d spent a fair bit of time there on other Hogsmeade weekends, biding her time and hiding from her housemates who only wanted to blabber on about how great it was the Dark Lord was back.

“Afternoon, Evelyn,” said Aberforth as she stepped into the nearly-empty establishment.

“Hello.” She nodded politely as she looked around. There weren’t many students who had spent enough time in the Hog’s Head to converse even a little with the Headmaster’s brother. She wasn’t surprised he remembered her. She looked at the only other occupant of the room. She couldn’t see the person’s face, but she could see enough to know it wasn’t the wizard she’d followed inside.

“He’s gone up the stairs,” Aberforth told her as she walked toward the bar. “Second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” Evelyn said, her eyes narrowed at him. _What is going on here?_

She made her way up the stairs and opened the door Aberforth had mentioned. Sure enough, there sat the Headmaster at a small table laid with tea. He smiled at her warmly.

“Good of you to join me, Miss Rosier,” he said, then indicated the chair on the other side of the table. “Would you care for some tea?”

Evelyn watched him warily as she took the seat, part of her trying to figure out what he was up to and another part of her trying to decide if it was really the Headmaster at all or if she’d been lured into some kind of trap. “No, thanks.”

“I imagine you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he said casually, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t really asked her at all. Though he had as good as, somehow knowing she’d take the hint. “I have something of a rather delicate nature to discuss with you.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows shot up. “With _me_?” She’d worked so hard to go unnoticed, she was a bit disappointed to find the Headmaster had thought to single her out for anything.

Dumbledore chuckled. “However, first there is someone else I would like to have a word with you.”

“Who—” Evelyn began, but before she could complete the thought, the door opened and a craggy, rough man with an uneven gait entered. She didn’t need to ask why he looked in such bad shape.

 _Bold move, old man_ , Evelyn thought. _But then, he **is** a Gryffindor._

“Thank you for joining us, Alastor,” Dumbledore said cheerily. “Oh, dear, I just remembered. There’s something I need to discuss with my brother. If you’ll excuse me.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes as the Headmaster strolled from the room. When the door clicked shut behind him, she turned her gaze on the man who’d killed her father. He was peering at her intently, both his real and magical eye trained on her.

“So,” she said casually, having nothing to follow that up with. They stared at each other for another moment. “You know, you’ve got a little—” she moved her finger as if to wipe something off the bridge of her nose, then stopped and smiled mockingly, “—oh, no, wait. That’s just your face.”

Moody ignored the taunt and walked to her, his fake leg thudding dully on the floor. With one smooth motion, he grabbed the chair Dumbledore had left, spun it around, and sat down on it backward, facing her.

“Do you know why I hate Death Eaters, Miss Rosier?” he asked her, his voice just as harsh as the rest of him.

She was unfazed. “Because one of them locked you in your own trunk for nine months and no one noticed?” she asked, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

His mood darkened. “Try again.”

Evelyn thought about taunting him further, but she knew that probably wasn’t a great idea. Besides, it was hard to keep up the will to do so when she knew exactly what he was going at, and could completely relate. His presence was a painful reminder of too many things.

Her face dropped all expression as she answered, “Because they give Slytherins a bad name.”

He nodded once. His intensity lessened somewhat and his magical eye went back to roving around wildly.

Mad-Eye Moody was notorious amongst Slytherins. He wasn’t a pureblood, so he couldn’t be a blood traitor, but he was close enough. He was a house traitor: a Slytherin who hunted Slytherins. The fact that those Slytherins were evil, murderous bastards didn’t really matter. Of course, it was so long ago that he’d been in school that the Slytherins were likely the only ones who remembered he was one of them. Most people probably assumed he was a Gryffindor.

Evelyn inwardly scoffed at the thought. _Right, because Gryffindors are all about constant vigilance. Ever wary, those Gryffindors._

“Do you hate me, Miss Rosier?” His question was devoid of any sort of concern, trepidation, or any other emotion that it might have carried if said by most other people. He didn’t sound as if it much mattered to him one way or the other.

She shook her head and her eyes dropped to the floor in front of her. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. Aurors aren’t the reason my father’s dead.”

He didn’t speak for several second, but she could feel his eye—or possibly eyes—on her. When she looked back up at him, he was staring at her as if sizing her up.

“You’ve got more sense than most, little girl,” he said gruffly. She blinked at the compliment. “Even at your age, you can see through house politics.”

“My mother raised me well,” she responded, raising her chin, her eyes hard. “She knows what the real reward of serving the Dark Lord is, even if others are blind to it. We’ve lived in the shadow of my father’s stupidity my entire life.”

“I’m going to ask you two very important questions, Miss Rosier,” he said evenly. “How you answer will have serious consequences not only for yourself, but for the rest of the Wizarding world.”

Her heart started racing. Equal parts curiosity and fear sprang up in her chest.

“Do you hate Voldemort more than your father loved him?” Moody growled.

Evelyn tried not to flinch at his use of the Dark Lord’s name, and wished she was strong enough to say it, as well. The answer to that question was easy. “Yes.”

Moody never looked away from her eyes. He didn’t even blink. “Are you willing to do something about it?”

Evelyn couldn’t tear her gaze from his one good eye. It seemed to be looking through her as assuredly as the magical one. His tone was dead serious. It was plain that this wasn’t a hypothetical question. If she said yes, Dumbledore would return and explain what part she could play in what was certainly a dangerous and convoluted plan with probably a limited chance of success. If she said no, she would continue her life as it was, wait for the war to end, and be relatively sure of safety no matter which side won.

How many people got asked a question like that? Yes or no? Danger or safety? Taking control of your destiny or taking whatever life handed you? Whatever it was, if the plan failed, she would be signing the death warrants of not only herself, but her mother as well, when the time came for those who stood against the Dark Lord to be punished. Even still, she knew what her answer was from the moment the question left Moody’s lips.

“Yes.”


	4. The Conception of Teddy Lupin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the incident with Hermione in the Shrieking Shack, Lupin seeks Tonks out.

October 13, 1997

 

Remus Lupin rubbed his hand over his mouth, still trying to comprehend what had just happened. The gesture did little to wipe the taste of her from his lips. Her scent lingered in the air as heavy as the silence that had fallen on the empty room since her departure. He could smell the salt of her tears in his robes.

Too late, he thought to follow her. But what would he say? He’d had no other experience he could call upon for insight in this matter.

He needed to speak to his wife. 

* * *

 

He waited outside the DADA classroom until the final bell rang, trying not to fidget as he leaned against the stone wall. Finally, the students filed out, some giving him polite nods or hellos, which he tried to return as casually as possible.

When they’d all left, he went in. Dora was putting some papers into her bag. As he approached, she looked up, smiling warmly at him. He swallowed. How, exactly, was he going to say this?

“Dora,” he said, approaching her desk, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

Her face grew concerned. “Everything all right? There hasn’t been some bad news no one’s told me about yet, has there?”

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Well, first Hermione runs by looking like she’s just found out she’s failed all her classes and says something about being sorry, then you turn up acting like you’re about to ask for a divorce.”

By her tone, Remus knew she’d meant it as a joke, but it still made his stomach tighten.

“No!” he assured her, grabbing her hands in his and looking into her dark eyes. She looked even more worried and he forced himself calm. “No bad news. Just a... matter... that’s come up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay...” she said. “Can it wait until we get back to our room?”

“Yes,” he said, putting a hand on her lower back to walk with her. “That’s probably best.”

* * *

 

Remus closed the door to their quarters and started pacing. Dora tossed her bag on the floor and turned to him.

“Okay, what’s all this about then?” she asked.

“I... think maybe you should sit down,” he suggested.

Her pink eyebrows came together, but she took a seat on the sofa.

Remus faced her. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out where to start. Finally, he said, “Hermione came to see you earlier.”

“Did she?” asked Dora. “I didn’t see her.”

“You were in class,” he said. “I happened to be there, so I suggested she talk to me.” He stopped, then started pacing. “Actually,” he said, his voice tinged with regret, “I insisted on it. She looked so disturbed. She clearly needed to talk to someone.” He realized he sounded like he was trying to justify his actions.

“Well, what was wrong?” Dora prodded.

He ignored her question and continued his story. “I gathered it was something that shouldn’t be overheard, so I took her to the first place I thought of as being the safest and least likely to draw unwanted eyes or ears: the Shrieking Shack.”

“Okay...” Dora was beginning to sound impatient. “It didn’t fall down on you, did it?”

Remus ignored her attempt to hurry him along. “She told me that she’s pregnant again.”

“What? So soon?”

“And that the baby was going to be taken from her this Saturday.”

“Well, no wonder she was upset!” Dora said, standing. “Once was bad enough. How many times are they going to do this to the poor girl? What did you say to her?”

“I told her we’d help her,” Remus said.

Dora nodded. “Too right we will. Honestly. The nerve of those Ministry bastards—”

Remus put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back onto the sofa. “She started crying,” he continued, then started pacing again. “So, I tried to comfort her. I gave her a hug, told her we’d do our best, that we’d figure some way to help her. Then...” he stopped pacing and looked at his wife, “...she kissed me.”

Dora’s jaw dropped. “She... _what_?”

“She was so distraught, so I held her, letting her cry it out, and eventually she stopped, but then, before I knew what was happening, she just... kissed me.”

“Well, did you kiss her _back_?” Dora asked, suddenly on her feet.

“ _No_!” Remus cried, aghast that she would even think it. “Of course not!”

That seemed to calm Dora down a little, but not much. “Did you give her the wrong impression?” she asked, the words pouring quickly from her mouth. “Did you give her any reason to think you wanted to? Where exactly were your hands?”

“On her back!” Remus said defensively. “You can’t think that I would—Dora, I would never—Please tell me you don’t honestly believe I would do something like that!”

He grabbed Dora’s upper arms lightly and looked imploringly at her. She gazed into his brown eyes for a long moment before looking away and wrapping her arms around him.

“Of course not,” she said. “I know the thought would never enter your head. It’s one of the reasons I love you.” She looked up at him and gave a weak smile. “Besides, after what I went through to convince you to be with _me_ , I know you wouldn’t go after an even _younger_ woman.”

He smiled, raised her chin with one finger, and kissed her.

When they parted, her worried look returned. “But why would Hermione do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” he said. “But she looked so horrified after she realized what she’d done, I’m sure she didn’t intend to do it. Like I said, she was very distraught and... she did say something, right before...”

Dora raised an eyebrow. “What did she say?”

“I think we’ve underestimated just how much of a git Snape is being to her,” he said, frowning. “She said... he never touches her. She said that even when they’re... alone together, he doesn’t touch her.”

Dora looked thoughtful. “How is that possible?” she asked. “I mean, I know Snape’s cold, but... to not touch her during sex? That just... boggles the mind.”

Remus nodded. “Do you think that’s why she did it?”

“Of _course_ that’s why she did it,” Dora said. “I know men may be perfectly satisfied with a quick in-out, Remus, but a woman needs tenderness and attention.” Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Dora kept talking. “If Snape’s not giving it to her—and Merlin knows why we ever thought he _would_ —it’s not surprising she reacted like that when you gave her some.”

A faint blush had crept into Remus’s cheeks, evidence of his discomfort with discussing other people’s sex lives, but he just shook his head. “I should have never taken her out there. I should have seen this coming, should never have been alone with her.”

Dora put her hand on his cheek. “You couldn’t have known,” she told him. “If Snape was doing his job, if he was any kind of a decent—or even half-way _normal_ —man, we wouldn’t have this problem. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Promise me you didn’t like it.”

Remus looked hurt. “Never.”

He kissed her again, more passionately than before, trying to show her that his lips were only for her. When he felt something change, he broke the kiss abruptly and looked at his wife in shock.

Hermione Granger was looking back, scrutinizing him.

He gasped, releasing her. “Nymphadora! That is _not_ funny!”

Dora shifted back into her own form. “I had to check,” she said, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Just remember why you married me, Remus. Endless variety.”

He looked at her sadly, then took her hand, raising it to his lips, and placed a feather-soft kiss on the back of it. “ _That_ is _not_ why I married you,” he told her, hoping she read the sincerity in his eyes. “And if you ever try anything like that again, I shall have to spank you.” She cocked an eyebrow at him and he grinned wolfishly. “Unless you think another punishment is more suited to the crime of taking my wife from me?”

Dora smiled evilly. “I think you can get more creative than that.” She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a kiss. She opened her mouth, her tongue playing along his bottom lip. He needed no further invitation. He eagerly deepened the kiss, caressing her tongue with his as his left hand pressed against her lower back, pulling her flush against him, and his right hand snaked down to squeeze her bum.

Then he felt her change again and released her with a jolt, about to berate her when he saw Minerva McGonagall staring at him lustfully and licking her lips.

“Ugh!” Remus cried in disgust and staggered back several feet. Dora shifted back to normal and grinned impishly. He pointed a finger at her. “Come here,” he growled, but the wolfish smile was back.

She laughed brightly and made to run away. He chased her, dodging around furniture, laughing, and generally acting far too immature for a man of his age, until he finally caught up with her in the bedroom.

He swept her into his arms as if she weighed nothing and dropped her onto the bed. He looked down at her, her eyes filled with desire, and felt the strain of his erection against his trousers.

“Now, then, what shall I do with you?” he asked, his voice low, betraying his own desire.

“Anything you want,” she replied, her tone seductive, her eyes grazing over his form, “but you’d better do it naked.”

He grinned predatorily and wasted no time in stripping off his patched and threadbare clothes until he was left standing in his underwear, all while under her intense and roaming gaze.

She licked her lips again. “You are a dead sexy man, Remus.”

He still didn’t know what the proper response was to that. He only knew that he loved to hear it coming from her soft, delectable lips. He’d never thought of himself as sexy before her, and he never wanted to be sexy to anyone else _but_ her.

Languidly, he grasped the waistband of his pants, pulling them over his erection, savoring the lust he saw in his wife’s eyes as she eyed his penis hungrily.

Removing his pants and tossing them aside, he crawled toward Dora on the bed. She reached up to try and kiss him, but he didn’t let her. Instead, he grabbed the bottom of her robe and pulled it up. Getting the idea, she hastened to help him divest her of her clothing. The moment her knickers were on the floor with the rest of their clothes, he lunged at her, devouring her mouth.

She moaned and wrapped her arms around him, raking her fingernails across the skin of his back. He growled into her mouth, moving on top of her, bracing himself up on his elbows. His mouth left hers and trailed soft kisses down her neck. When he reached the curve where her neck met her shoulder, it was everything he could do to stop himself from biting her.

He stopped and pulled back. It was moments like that when he thought she had made a very big mistake in marrying him. One weak moment of unrestrained passion and she’d be eating her steaks raw the rest of her life.

She looked at him, pouting slightly, clearly about to ask why he’d stopped. He couldn’t bear to tell her again. She’d only rebuke him. Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth to her breast, kissing tenderly along her skin, taking care to be gentle. When he reached her nipple, he licked it once, then latched his lips onto it.

He sucked on her nipple, laving it with his tongue, careful not to use his teeth. One of her hands moved from his back and her fingers dug into his hair, pressing him to her as she arched into his mouth, moaning. He growled again, fighting to keep himself from losing control. She could bring out the beast in him as easily as a full moon.

He moved his mouth to her other breast, suckling on that nipple, and shifted his weight to his right arm, using his left hand to caress the breast his mouth had just abandoned. His hands were not overly large, but they covered her small breast easily, which turned him on more than he would have guessed before he married her.

Suddenly he felt her hand on his penis and he moaned, squeezing her breast harder with his hand and giving the nipple in his mouth a rough lick. He raised up to look at her.

“I want you now,” she told him, the look in her eyes allowing no room for argument.

He shifted forward, allowing her hand to guide him into her opening. He moaned again, kissing her softly as he slid inside her, feeling her body’s tight, soft heat wrapped around him. Oh, how he loved this woman.

He felt the weight of her legs wrapping around his hips as he slowly slid in and out of her, reveling in the exquisite feeling of making love to his wife. He must have been crazy for rebuffing her advances for nearly a year. If he had only known what he was missing.

She drew his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking on it, then gave it a nip and invaded his mouth with her tongue, greedily exploring every inch of it. He responded in kind, hungry for her taste.

Her hips rose to meet him as his thrusts grew quicker, more insistent, and she tightened her legs around him. He felt his pleasure building and he hoped he would last. He wasn’t as young as she was, but he’d been fairly capable at keeping up with her so far in their marriage.

His pace quickened even more and he felt himself losing control. He broke the kiss and gritted his teeth, thrusting as quickly as he could, driving himself forward and hoping to heaven he wouldn’t come too soon. He felt her nails dig into his back and her body clench around him as she gasped his name.

That was his undoing. His testicles tightened and he went light-headed as his body was wracked with pleasure so intense it was almost painful. He rode it out as long as he could, prolonging the feeling as much as possible, before finally collapsing on top of her.

He shifted to the side so that he was only half on her as they both strove to catch their breath. One of her arms was trapped between his body and the mattress. Her other hand went to his head, stroking his hair.

“Are you certain I’m the only woman you want?” she asked unexpectedly.

He raised himself off the mattress on his elbow so he could look at her. She was looking back at him with a strange insecurity that broke his heart.

With his free hand, he stroked her face. “Now and forever,” he said, looking straight into her eyes with all the sincerity in his being, “the only woman in the world.”

Her smile at those words made his heart melt. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly, then finally pulled out of her and moved to lie beside her on the bed.

They both stared up at the canopy of their four-poster for several minutes. Remus was just drifting off to sleep when Dora broke the silence.

“We’ll have to talk to her, you know.”

It took Remus a moment to realize what she meant. Then, he sighed. “Yes. And I should have a talk with Severus, as well.”

“Do you think that will do any good?”

Sensing she was looking at him, Remus turned his head to meet her eyes. “Someone needs to instruct him on the proper way to treat his wife,” he said simply. “Who else is going to do it? Dumbledore?”

Dora giggled, then turned to snuggle close to him. “Between you and me, I think Dumbledore’s not all that well versed on the subject of how to treat a woman, if you get my meaning.”

Remus wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head, smiling. “ _That_ , my dear, is something I would really rather not think about.”

Then, not even bothering to get under the sheets, they both drifted off to sleep.


	5. Man to Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin and Snape have a heart-to-heart shouting match.

October 16, 1997

 

“Enter!”

Remus slowly pushed open the door to Snape’s office, trying to think of what exactly he would say to the man. He’d given it a considerable amount of thought, but he still had no idea what the correct way to broach this particular topic would be. Truth be told, he never in his wildest dreams would have imagined himself having to do so. Not until three days ago, at least.

“Severus,” he said, taking a step into the room. He decided to go with the obvious ice-breaker. “Do you have...”

Snape slid a goblet toward the edge of his desk, looking at Remus with great loathing. “Cutting it awfully close, aren’t we? It’s nearly dark.”

“It’s barely past noon,” Remus replied, raising an eyebrow. Snape grumbled something rude under his breath. _Oh, well_ , Remus thought. _Agree to disagree, I suppose.... On the time of day.... Oh, this is going to go swimmingly._

Remus glided over to the desk with a lupine grace that mixed oddly with his shabby dress. Taking the goblet, he smelled it discreetly, then felt a bit ridiculous for doing so. If Snape hadn’t spiked his Wolfsbane Potion any of the previous times he’d brewed it for him, there was no reason to think this batch was anything but perfect. _I’d better check next month’s, though_ , he thought miserably.

He downed the potion in one, grimacing at the taste. He set the empty goblet on the corner of Snape’s desk and hesitated, then said, “Thank you.”

Snape looked up from his marking a scroll that appeared to be half-covered with red ink and Remus wondered if the student was really that hopeless or if Snape had taken to simply haphazardly crossing out sections and assuming that at least some of the corrections were deserved. Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“I do appreciate it,” Remus said. “Truly.”

Snape scoffed and returned to marking. “You cannot possibly be so deluded as to believe I make it for your benefit.”

Remus frowned. “I know. But... all the same. I’m grateful for it.”

Suddenly, Snape slammed his quill down on the desk, but didn’t look up from the scroll. “And how do you mean to repay me if you are so _grateful_?” he asked, his tone making it clear that he thought Remus had nothing to give of equal value. “By not attempting to kill me a _third_ time?” His head snapped up to give Remus a look of cold hatred.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said calmly. “I don’t believe I ever said that to you. I know there’s no excuse. I slipped up, and people I cared about almost died. If I had harmed Harry or Sirius... or the others...” He stopped as Snape’s expression became even colder.

“Pity you didn’t,” Snape said softly. “Black, at any rate. At least then some measure of justice would have been done that night.”

Remus felt his righteous indignation flare up, wanting to protest that Sirius had been innocent, to remind Snape that Wormtail was the one responsible for James and Lily’s deaths. But then he realized, of course, that the Potters had nothing to do with what Snape meant. He certainly had been no sorrier to learn James died than he had when Sirius was lost to the veil. At least, Remus didn’t imagine so. He hadn’t actually been with Snape whenever it was that the young Death Eater heard the news.

But Remus knew what Snape meant now, and, to his shock, he felt an ugly bitterness push the indignation away. But the bitterness was not for Snape.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Remus said firmly. “Nor did he deserve the Dementors.... But you’re right. He did deserve more for that _trick_ than detention with Minerva.”

Snape leaned back in his chair and gave him a calculating look. “Turning against your friend now, Lupin?” he asked. “But betrayal is so much more satisfying when the object of it is still alive.” His voice was thick with contempt, though Remus wasn’t sure whether it was meant for him or for Snape himself.

“ _I’m_ not the traitor!” Remus snapped, then continued in an even, almost casual tone, but his eyes were hard. “You know, I’ve never understood how you could be so foolish as to believe I had any part in Sirius’s little joke. Didn’t you realize what it would have meant for me, if it had been successful? No? I don’t believe he did, either. Azkaban if I was lucky. A Dementor’s kiss if you’d died. Even if I’d only bitten you, I would have been expelled at the very least, and all the work my parents and Dumbledore had gone through to get me an education would have been for nothing, and I’d be an even sorrier specimen than I am now.”

“I don’t believe that’s possible,” Snape said, smiling unpleasantly.

Remus met his gaze, but chose not to respond to the insult. “I’ve been thinking, ever since I learned the truth of what happened the night James and Lily died, of who it was that truly betrayed them.” He thought he saw Snape’s eye twitch, but he might have imagined it. “At first I thought it was perfectly reasonable that Sirius would think I might have been the traitor. After all, I had thought _he_ was responsible for so many years. But then I remembered that I had good reason to. I didn’t believe it was him until after he’d supposedly killed Peter. But he... he thought it was me before all that. It’s the only reason they didn’t tell me about switching Secret-Keepers. But what was his reason? I had never given them—any of them—any reason not to trust me. The only thing I had ever done that might have caused them to mistrust me on principle... was get bitten by a werewolf. Despite all those years of claims that it doesn’t really matter, when it _did_ really matter...” He trailed off and his gaze drifted. “Dark creature and all, you know. Only a matter of time, really.” He laughed harshly. “Peter’s Animagus form is a _rat_ and they thought _I_ was the one who couldn’t be trusted.”

“They were right.”

Snape’s cold voice broke through Remus’s thoughts. Remus looked at him, at the unadulterated malice seething from the other man, and sighed.

“Why do we do this?” he asked wearily.

“Is that really a rhetorical question?” Snape asked, his lip curling.

Remus looked into Snape’s eyes, feeling very tired, weighed down with decades of animosity. “Sirius is gone, Severus. James is gone.” He turned and began pacing slowly. “Even poor Lily, who never wanted any part of our conflict, is gone. And Peter... well, Peter died when he took the Dark Mark, and I think even Wormtail will be gone soon enough.” He looked back at Snape, who was still glaring at him. “We’re all that’s left, you and I. Shall we take this fight to our graves? Aren’t you tired of it? I know I am.”

“There are a great many things I will take to my grave, Lupin,” Snape said evenly. “I see no reason for this not to be one of them. And no, I am not _tired_ of it. Hating you is one of the few satisfying things in my life.”

Remus sighed again. “I’m sorry to say I believe that. But don’t you think, given the situation, it would be better to at least let one or two hatchets fall to the ground?”

“To what _situation_ do you refer?” Snape asked snidely.

“You have a chance to create some happiness for yourself, even in the midst of everything, and instead you choose to not only make yourself more miserable than ever, but to drag an innocent young witch down with you.”

Snape snorted. “You speak of dragging down innocent young witches. What, I wonder, will become of Miss Tonks when the war is over? Even if you both live through it, do you really think you have anything to offer her other than a life of poverty and an early, bloody death?”

Remus was silent for a long time, staring at the floor.

“You’re right,” he said, very quietly. “I tried to tell her, but she insisted she knew what she was getting into. But how can she, really? She’s too young.” _Look who I’m talking to_ , he thought, with an ironic laugh. When he looked back at Snape, the other man appeared incredulous, most likely wondering how to interpret the laugh.

“We’re both married to witches too young for us and too good for us, and when this war is over, assuming we all survive,”—he ignored the pessimistic snort from Snape—”when everyone’s safe and they have a moment to sit back and think, they’ll realize that and they’ll leave us.”

“All the better for them,” Snape grumbled.

“Yes,” Remus agreed with a nod. “Yes, Severus, all the better for them. But until that happens, I plan to enjoy this little fantasy of something even remotely resembling a normal, happy life. Because I know that at any moment it could be ripped to shreds by Voldemort or the Ministry or—”

“Or your own claws,” Snape sneered, his lips curled in a hateful, mocking smile.

Remus got very still. “Yes,” he said softly, looking at his hands. “Yes, just so.”

When he looked back at Snape, he saw not the look of triumph that he expected, but, strangely, he saw a look very similar to the one he supposed he must have been wearing at that moment, and Snape’s eyes flitted down to his own hand.

“You forget, Lupin,” Snape said, his voice low and smooth, as his eyes returned to meet Remus’s own, “that _I_ had no choice in my match, nor did Miss Granger.” Then his lips twisted in a snarling mockery of a grin. “My bride is hardly as _eager_ as yours.” He made it sound like an accusation of deep depravity, but Remus didn’t let it goad him.

“You may be mistaken there, Severus,” Remus informed the other man. “Hermione may be young, but she _is_ a woman, and one forced into a situation far beyond her knowledge and ability to handle.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Snape snapped.

“She needs _support_ , Severus,” Remus urged.

Snape snorted. “I thought that’s what you volunteered for.”

“Yes, well,” Remus shifted his weight and looked down to Snape’s desk, “I can’t give her everything she needs.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What is that supposed to mean?” he repeated, his voice a deadly whisper.

Remus met Snape’s eyes again. “She came to see me,” he said calmly. _Not strictly true, but close enough._ “She needed to talk, so I took her to the first, safest place that came to mind.” Snape continued to glare, but said nothing, though Remus knew he understood what he’d meant. “They’re taking her children, Severus. Stealing them right out of her body. But apparently it’s too much to ask that her own husband be even the least bit sympathetic.”

“Get to the point,” Snape warned.

Remus glared back at him, bristling at the utter lack of compassion the so-called man could have for his own wife. “Well, long story short, Snape,” he said, his irritation getting the better of him, “she kissed me.”

Snape shot out of his chair. “What?!”

Remus took a step back, startled at the severity of the outburst and the look of rage on Snape’s face. “She needs tenderness, Severus,” he said. “Now more than ever before in her life, I’d imagine. And if you refuse to even make an attempt at it, she’s going to seek it out wherever she can find it.”

Snape stormed at Remus, his wand already in his hand. With his empty hand, he grabbed the front of Remus’s robes and roughly pulled him toward his face. For one wild moment, Remus was afraid Snape was going to kiss him, as well, and so was almost relieved when the other man simply glared at him from an inch away, practically frothing at the mouth. Too late, Remus realized that Snape’s wand was pointed at him. Deep black eyes bored into his and he could feel Snape barging his way into his mind.

After making a knee-jerk attempt at Occluding him, Remus felt Snape break through his mental barriers and start rooting around wildly through his memories. Scenes of his life flashed through Remus’s mind so quickly he barely had time to recognize each as it passed. His mother was sitting beside him in his small bed, an open book on her lap. Padfoot was wagging his tail at him, hind end in the air, forepaws spread wide on the ground, beckoning him to play. He was looking at himself in the mirror, staring in disbelief at the prefect badge on his school robes. Twelve-year-old Ginny Weasley was smiling at him across his desk. Ted Tonks was looking dubiously at him while Andromeda reached her hand toward him. Hermione was in his arms, clinging to him, her face wet with tears, her lips pressed against his, then she was pulling back, horrified and humiliated, and he felt his own astonishment flood through him again.

Then all he saw was perfect, pale skin, and he panicked, desperately trying to push Snape out of his mind, but the memory continued as he felt Snape clinging to it, driving it forward. He saw his own hand trailing across a soft, trim stomach, and he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but he couldn’t, and Snape’s mental grip tightened even further. He saw his long finger tracing around a delicate belly button, and he felt nauseous from the desperation to get Snape out of his head. He saw his rough fingertips teasing their way over silky skin toward a thatch of pink curls...

“NO!”

Remus shoved Snape away from him with enough force to not only break Snape’s grip on his robes, as well as his eye contact, but to cause Snape to nearly fall backward onto his own desk.

Remus drew his wand and leveled it at Snape as the other man tried to right himself.

“You went too far, Snape,” he growled, his eyes burning with fury. “You want this feud to continue? So be it. If you _ever_ try that again—I don’t care if you _are_ in the Order, I don’t care if Dumbledore says we need you, I don’t care if you’re the last bloody hope for the future of humanity—I _will_ kill you.”

Still leaning back heavily against the desk, Snape glared at him from under his eyebrows, looking utterly unapologetic. “You expect me to believe you wouldn’t jump on any bitch in heat?” he snarled.

Remus stomach turned at the simultaneous insult to not only himself, but to two women who had never in their lives deserved such a slur. “Unlike you,” he spat, “I actually _love_ and _value_ my wife.”

Snape’s only response to that was a sneer. Remus lowered his wand.

“You disgust me,” he said quietly, then turned and walked out, leaving Snape alone in his dungeon.


	6. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonks and Lupin say goodbye before he goes to his latest assignment.

October 20, 1997

 

She stood with him at the edge of the forest. Hagrid had already left them, taking Remus’s wand for safekeeping. She leaned her forehead against his.

“You’re always leaving.”

He brushed her cheek with rough, gentle fingers. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She pulled back to look into his eyes. “Last year was one thing. I didn’t like it, but I understood, and it’s not like you’d...” She looked down, stroking her still-flat belly. “You’ve got a family now. How can he still ask this of you?”

Remus pulled her to himself, wrapping his arms around her, and she clung to him. “He needs me.” He sounded weary, resigned.

“I need you.”

“It needs to be done, and there’s no one else.”

Tonks clung to him more tightly. “I know. But I hate it.” She looked at his face again. “Last year, Remus... what that did to you... living with those people...”

“I know, Dora, but I’m the only werewolf Dumbledore’s got, and if there’s any chance we can bring this pack over, I’ve got to try.”

“I don’t know if I can stand being away from you like that again.”

He smiled at her, the lines in his face crinkling, then bent and picked up a stick. It was just a twig: simple, Y-shaped. He showed her, holding it in the middle, his hand covering the place where it branched.

“Funny thing about trees,” he said. “No matter how separate two parts might look, nor how far apart their paths take them...” He moved his grip farther down, revealing the join. “If you follow them back, you’ll find they’re actually one.”

She gave him a half-smile. “That’s daft, Remus.”

He dropped the stick and took her hands, then pressed them over his heart. “You and I are one, Dora, no matter what may temporarily separate us. I’ll always come back to you.”

Her gaze fell to their joined hands. “You’d better.”

He kissed her, slowly, patiently, thoroughly, and she savored it, soaking it in, memorizing the feel of his lips and his arms and his body. Who knew how long this kiss would have to last her?

When they parted, he said, “It’s getting dark. You should go inside.”

Tonks sighed. She understood duty as well as he did, and she knew there was no putting this off any longer. “Be careful, Remus. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

They kissed again, and then she let him go, the ache of his absence already seeping into her bones.


	7. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's thoughts after one of his "encounters" with Hermione.

October 21, 1997

 

With a final grunt, Snape rode out the last surges of unspeakable pleasure as he ejaculated inside the woman he currently had all but pinned to his desk with his hips.

No, not woman. Girl.

As he recovered from his orgasm, the familiar self-loathing settled in, wrapping around his heart like a blanket. He could still feel the girl’s vagina, tight and hot around his limp penis, and fought the bile that rose in his throat.

Swiftly and silently, he extricated himself from her young body and stood back, tucking his withered member into his pants, buttoning his trousers, and situating his robes.

He glanced at her once—a mistake. She hadn’t yet covered herself, and her round bum, flushed from the vigor of his intrusions, was still well on display for him... as was her swollen fanny, from which leaked the white, sticky evidence of his shameful loss of control.

His lip curled and he stared at the ground, determined not to raise his eyes until she had made herself decent. As if she _could_ be decent with her teacher’s semen dripping down her thigh.

 _Damn her. Damn the girl for starting all of this. Why couldn’t she have just..._ He took a breath, trying to calm himself.

_You know it’s not her fault, Sev... any more than it is yours._

Lily. How long had her voice been haunting him?

 _I’m sorry, Lily_ , he thought, as he always did, each time he’d been forced to betray her memory so vilely.

 _I know_ , she answered, as always, and he knew it wasn’t really her.

“Severus,” said a soft voice.

He looked up, half-expecting to see Lily standing before him, but it was just the girl. He wished he could get her to stop using his given name, but she was as strong-willed as... as nearly all Gryffindors.

“That was... not so bad. Thank you for... trying.” She was blushing.

Snape’s jaw dropped.

 _Told you._ He could hear the mirth in Lily’s voice.

 _No. She’s mocking me!_ He locked eyes with Granger and delved as far into her mind as he could without his wand.

_She’s not mocking you, Sev. She’s trying to say—_

The girl broke eye contact, but he’d got the information he was after. Though he couldn’t believe it.

She’d meant it. He stared at the girl, trying to fathom how that could be true. She’d... well, she hadn’t hated it, at least.

_I think she more than didn’t hate it._

_That’s impossible_ , he insisted, even while his mind replayed for him the sounds of her low moans as he’d moved inside her, and that beautiful, sinfully erotic face she’d made once as she bounced up and down on his lap—the face that he had to beat back from the edge of his vision every time he looked at her. _Isn’t it?_

_Why don’t you ask her?_

But of course he didn’t.

Then she excused herself and left his office, leaving him to argue with the ghost of Lily’s voice which he knew was merely a part of himself.


	8. Guilty Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's perspective on the hospital sex.

November 25, 1997

 

The girl lowered herself, and Snape clenched his teeth.

He’d never get used to being inside her. Nor should he.

His cursed-ravaged body screamed with every movement.

He deserved it.

He failed in every way a man could a woman.

What kind of son lets his mother be murdered by her husband? What kind of friend gets the woman he loves killed?

He knew his unborn children were daughters, because he’d already failed them, too.

And the girl. Who trusted him. Who tried. Her time would come.

So he lay unresisting and took his righteous pain with his guilty pleasure.


	9. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape convinces Lupin to come home.

December 25, 1997

 

The moon was waning. It was a thin crescent in the night sky: grinning, laughing at him, enjoying its victory. The moon always won. He’d tried running from it, hiding from it, make-believing it wasn’t what it was—but it came for him all the same.

Three decades of fighting it, and he’d finally given up.

Remus lay on his back in a bed of pine needles, head pillowed in his hands, staring at the sky through the trees. He was naked, his last scraps of clothing destroyed by the wolves, but he didn’t care. They were all naked. It was the way of things. Natural. After all, they were animals.

He wasn’t cold, even though it was December in Scotland. He’d left his wand behind with the humans, but he had enough magical skill to cover their lair with a Warming Charm even without one. Some of the others had complained at first, called him a show-off, even tried to rough him up. But when the snows came, they stayed inside the Charm’s protection and left him alone.

 _It’s Christmas_ , he realized as he watched the moon move across the sky and saw the first faint lightening of the sky. He’d kept track of the date almost despite himself. Not that it mattered. Animals didn’t celebrate holidays.

He wondered who’d brought the trees into Hogwarts this year.

He still couldn’t believe it had happened. Hagrid had been a friend to him since he was eleven. Four years ago, when Remus had taken the teaching job (which Dumbledore had only given him because of his familiarity with Sirius, Remus was sure), Hagrid had greeted him with a boisterous welcome and a warm hug. When Remus had gone wild and almost killed several people at the end of that year, Hagrid hadn’t held it against him for a moment. “Couldn’ help it, could you?” he’d said. Hagrid had been a kind man, but a fool. He’d never seen the danger that was right in front of him, and that foolishness had finally caught up with him.

Remus could still remember the taste of Hagrid’s flesh.

Rustling drew his attention a short way off. It was still very early, but some of the other wolves were stirring. No, not just stirring. Mating.

The stench of sex filled his nose, and Remus tried not to think about his own mate.

But she wasn’t his mate anymore. He’d freed her. Left her.

He still yearned for her, body and soul. Every day without her was torment, but it was torment he would bear to keep her safe from the killer inside him.

Footsteps approached. A young werewolf walked up and raked a scornful gaze over him which lingered for a moment at Remus’s exposed genitals.

Remus rolled his eyes. _So petty and juvenile_. On the other hand, it was refreshing to be jealously hated for something other than his education. “Want something, Ginger, or did you just come for the view?”

Ginger’s eyes flashed angrily to Remus’s face. “Got another visitor, Lupin.”

 _Again?_ People had been coming ever since he’d left, trying to convince him that he didn’t really belong among his own people. He didn’t know if it was an organized effort or if that many of them were just individually that stupid. “Send them away. Whoever it is, I don’t want—”

He caught a whiff of something the moment before a figure stepped into view and roughly shoved Ginger aside.

“For God’s sake, Lupin,” the man sneered. “I thought my lack of desire to see your body has been established.”

Remus didn’t so much as sit up. “Hello, Severus. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you. Come to wish me a Happy Christmas?”

Snape, more thickly robed in black than usual, tossed a bundle of black fabric onto him. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Remus chuckled. “I have nowhere else I wish to be.”

“Rubbish.” Snape glared at Ginger. “You. Leave.”

Ginger growled at him, but complied.

Snape stared expectantly at Remus. “You’ve had your mope. Now let’s go.”

This was becoming irritating. Remus sat up and tossed the black clothing back at Snape. “Who sent you out here, Severus? Minerva? None of them understand, nor would I want them to.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Is this the vaunted Gryffindor courage on display?”

“I’m not a Gryffindor anymore, Severus.” In a smaller voice, he added, “I’m not even a wizard.”

The clothes flew at him again, smacking him in the face, and he yanked them off.

“No one sent me, Lupin,” Snape barked. “I came for you because you’re needed. You still have a duty to attend to. I won’t let you simply abandon the Order because you feel sorry for yourself.”

Remus leapt to his feet. “ _Sorry for myself?_ I killed, Severus! One of the Order. One of my friends. And I could easily do it again.”

“Yes. You could. Now come on.” Snape grabbed Remus’s arm, but Remus jerked out of his grasp.

“What part of this aren’t you getting, Snape? I’m a monster! I shouldn’t be among normal people!”

Snape nodded. “As I’ve been saying for years, but no one listened to me. Why should they listen to you now?”

Remus peered at him. “I don’t get it. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to see me for what I really am, to see the danger I pose. So why are you of all people trying to get me to go back?”

“My reasons are none of your concern.”

Remus sat back down on the forest floor. “Go away, Severus. And tell the others not to come for me anymore either.”

Snape watched him for a few seconds, then said, “And what should I tell your wife?”

Remus flinched. “I have nothing more to say to her.”

“You believe because you’ve killed once, you will inevitably do so again?”

“I can’t take the chance.”

Snape traced his mouth with his finger thoughtfully. “If I understand this correctly... You made a mistake, got someone you cared about killed, and now believe that the best way to honor that person’s memory and help those you value is to entirely abandon all of your responsibilities and give in to your darker nature. Oh, yes. How very noble of you.”

Remus hugged his knees to his chest. “What would you know about it?” he muttered.

A boot connected with Remus’s shoulder, kicking him roughly over. From where he now lay sprawled on the ground, Remus looked at Snape with shock.

“More than you, obviously!” Snape spat. “I have spent my _life_ —” He cut off as if he’d almost revealed a great secret. Then a considering look came over him, and he said more calmly, “You know I was friends with Lily Evans.”

Remus blinked, moving to sit on his heels. “Lily? Yes, I remember. But what has Lily got to do with—”

“She was not just my friend.” Snape’s jaw was tight, as if his own body didn’t want him to speak the words. “I loved her. With all my heart. Even though she didn’t reciprocate. Even after she chose _him_.”

“Severus,” Remus whispered, reeling. “I had no idea you felt so strongly—”

“I still killed her.”

Remus’s stomach gave a lurch. “W-what?”

“The prophecy that the Dark Lord tried to get two years ago, the one he’d only heard a portion of...”

“The one that led him to James and Lily,” Remus said with growing horror.

“I was the one who told him about it.” Snape’s face twisted with regret and pain. “If not for me, she’d still be alive.”

Remus felt dizzy. Already on his knees, he fell to his hands as well. “Why?” he gasped.

“I didn’t know how he’d interpret what I told him!” Snape snapped. “When I found out, I begged him to spare her. I begged Dumbledore to protect her.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. “Just her?”

“Yes. But my point, Lupin, is that I made a choice. My actions got the woman I loved killed. It doesn’t matter that I hadn’t intended for it to happen or that I tried to stop it. I did it, and I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

Anger built inside of Remus: murderous, burning anger. He wanted to kill Snape. He wanted to rip his throat out. It was his fault. James and Lily would still be alive if not for him.

But no. Voldemort had killed them. Peter had played his part as well, and he _had_ acted knowing they would die. One of their best friends.

Remus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“You want to kill me,” Snape observed. “I wanted to kill me, as well, after it happened. But that would have helped no one. Not even me. Instead, I did something useful. I devoted my life to protecting what was left of her.”

Remus looked up at him. “What was left... Harry. You’ve been protecting Harry?”

“Of course I have, not that the idiot realizes it. Half the time he’s thought I was the one trying to kill him. Must be his father in him.”

The gibe at James didn’t even rile Remus. “Your whole life?” he asked quietly.

“Ever since it happened, yes.”

“Has it worked? Have you been able to forgive yourself yet?”

Snape waited a few seconds before responding. “No. But that’s not the point.”

Remus thought he understood what Snape was saying. It wasn’t all about him or even his own guilt. Hagrid wouldn’t have wanted him to abandon everyone he cared about. Lurking out here in the forest, wallowing in his failure, was doing no one any good.

Slowly, he stood. “Okay, Severus. I’ll come with you.”

“Good.” Snape threw the clothes at him again, and Remus opened the bundle to find black robes exactly like the ones Snape wore.

“What are these?”

“My robes,” Snape grunted.

Remus smirked. “Giving me the clothes off your back, are you?”

Snape gave him an unamused look. “Hardly. They were spare. Now kindly cover yourself.”

Remus slipped the robes over his head, then looked at Snape carefully. “You’re a surprising man, Severus. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you cared.”

Snape huffed. “Let’s go.”

“In a minute. I want to tell Spears I’m leaving.”

“Be quick about it,” Snape told him, glancing around warily. Remus could hear the other werewolves getting up. He began to walk away. “And Lupin,” Snape said, stopping him. “What I told you about Lily. That information never leaves your lips.”

Remus smiled wanly at him. With a sudden insight, he knew why Dumbledore had trusted him all these years, and why the head of the Order had never explained that trust to the rest of them. “Of course, Severus. I’ll be right back.”


	10. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After seeing Hermione at Christmas, Snape lies alone in his dungeon.

December 28, 1997

 

His bed was cold. As usual.

Why did he notice now? It was the dungeons. It was always cold.

 _It needn’t be_ , whispered a voice in his head. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore.

Snape snorted and banished the voice. He was quite content, lying alone between chilly sheets.

Besides, the only company he’d ever wanted...

Well, he could do nothing about that now.

_And what of the girl?_

The voice was persistent.

_Let her in, for both your sakes._

It didn’t just mean his bed.

Snape rolled over and pulled the sheets tighter around himself.

“Bugger off, Albus.”


	11. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An average morning hiding out in Hermione's safe-house.

April 1, 1998

 

In the weeks (months?) since they’d gone to ground, Neville had discovered that he was more than a fair cook—quite to his own astonishment (and Professor Snape’s, if the dour man’s persistent refusal to eat anything Neville cooked was an indication). It had become the custom for him to occupy his time in preparing the most interesting and tasty dishes he could manage with the limited supplies they were able to procure. They shared cooking duties amongst them, of course. At least, they’d attempted to at first, until they’d discovered that Lavender could burn water and Professor Snape seemed unable to prepare anything but soup, which still came out tasting like he’d seasoned it with dragon bile. Fred, of course, could hardly be trusted. So, while Luna and Hermione prepared their fare share, it came to fall on Neville to do the majority of the cooking.

Of late, he’d had to try to be more careful to prepare meals that were healthy as well as tasty. This had come to light one rather awkward morning when Professor Snape (who had eventually given in and partook of Neville’s cooking when it became clear he’d likely starve otherwise) had stormed into the living room demanding to know who had shrunk the pair of Muggle trousers he’d been wearing lately (being as they were in a Muggle neighborhood, sparsely populated though it may have been, they couldn’t risk being seen in wizard’s robes). Everyone had denied it, and Hermione had calmly and rather coolly pointed out that Professor Snape had simply gained a bit of weight—after which Professor Snape had stormed back to his room, red-faced, and refused to either eat or speak to any of them for nearly two days.

All of which led to Neville’s current experiment with spinach and mushrooms as the basis for a breakfast dish.

“Are these Flooglesprouts?” asked Luna interestedly, looking down at her plate. She hadn’t got out of her pajamas yet and her hair was tied half-up with a bit of twine.

“No, they’re mushrooms,” Neville answered.

“Oh,” said Luna, with some disappointment.

The shower upstairs began running, and Neville wondered who was taking one. If it was Lavender, her food would be cold long before she came to get it with how long it took that girl to get ready. Neville marveled that she put so much effort into it still, when she was never even allowed out of the house.

Professor Snape strolled in, took the plate that Neville had set for him, and left without saying a word or even acknowledging Neville or Luna’s presence.

A moment later, Hermione entered, wearing a pair of jeans and a jumper. “It smells delicious, Neville,” she said, smiling. She always complemented his cooking, even when he knew perfectly well it was a failed attempt. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Neville answered, sitting down to his own plate. “Something between a salad and a quiche, I think.”

Hermione took a fair helping and sat down beside Luna. “Very good,” she said after eating a bite. As she ate, a thoughtful look came over her.

“What is it?” Neville asked. He rarely asked anymore—she rarely answered him—but something about her expression made him think this wasn’t something so important that she wouldn’t share it.

“My parents’ anniversary might be coming up,” she said. “Not that it matters, but... Does anyone know what the date is?”

Neville was surprised that she’d ask. He would have thought that, of all of them, Hermione would have been the one to keep track. He was about to tell her he didn’t know when an ear-piercing shriek came from upstairs, followed by a giddy cackle.

“ _Fred Weasley!_ I will murder you!”

Neville and Hermione looked up to follow the sounds of bangs and tromping footsteps as someone moved with quite a hurry above them. Soon, Lavender appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, her hair having become less a collection of follicles and more a cascade of purple rose petals. Her skin was a quite complementary shade of blue.

“Where is he?” she growled. Neville and Hermione shrugged their ignorance, and she took off in search of the trickster.

Moments later, Fred casually strolled through the kitchen on his way to the living room, picking up his breakfast on the way, all the while singing softly, “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...”

Neville and Hermione stared after him blankly. Luna stabbed a mushroom with her fork and commented, “I can’t say for certain, of course, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was April first.”


	12. Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill comes home to one of the other safe-houses with some good news.

May 17, 1998

 

A knock on the door in the middle of the night did not usually come with good news.

Mad-Eye and Kingsley jumped up, wands at the ready. Fleur approached the door cautiously.

“’oo is it?” she asked.

“It’s me!” came a voice from the other side. “Bill Weasley, your husband.”

Fleur’s hand jerked to the handle, but Kingsley cleared his throat pointedly.

“’ow did we meet?” she asked through the door.

“When I came with Mum to visit Harry during the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” he responded.

Fleur nodded to Mad-Eye and Kingsley, then opened the door.

Bill entered, shutting the door quickly behind him. He swept Fleur into his arms. “I’m an uncle,” he stated, grinning. Fleur gave a squeal and kissed him.

“Ginny had her baby?” Kingsley asked, smiling as he tucked his wand away.

“They named him James.” Bill shook his head. “I still can’t believe my baby sister’s a parent before I am.”

Kingsley’s smile faded. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t have placed bets on that either, but this year has brought some surprises.”

“What does ’e look like?” Fleur asked, refusing to let Kingsley’s comment sour the mood.

Grinning, Bill said, “Just like Ginny did as a newborn, but who can tell at this age? He has her eyes, though. That’s for sure.”

Kingsley chuckled. “You’re awfully excited for a nephew. Getting the itch to have one of your own?”

Bill laughed. “Maybe we should wait until after the war. I think there’s going to be enough babies to look after for the moment, don’t you?” He glanced at Evelyn, then across the room at Professor Trelawney, who was knitting a pair of ridiculous booties, apparently oblivious to the goings-on around her.

Following his gaze, Kingsley frowned again. “Yes. We certainly will.” Trelawney looked up, noticed him watching her, and gave him a happy little wave. He gave her back an odd little smile that was only a little forced, then said, “I think I saw a bottle of something in the cupboard. Maybe we should have a toast.”


	13. The End of Umbridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the final battle is going on at Hogwarts, Percy enacts a plan to get rid of Umbridge.

August 8, 1998

 

Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, sat alone in his office, unable to work. It wasn’t that he didn’t have work to do, certainly, or that he was the sort of chap to slough off his responsibilities and try to get away with doing as little as possible. It wasn’t even that it had got late and most Ministry employees had gone home hours ago while his boss expected him to stay at work as long as she did. No, young Mr. Weasley was unable to work for the simple reason that his mind was elsewhere.

Specifically, his mind was in Scotland, at his old school, where the rest of his family currently was both in mind and in body, and he was awaiting word from them.

A flash of light filled his office, and Percy flinched away from it. When he looked again, the light had coalesced into the wispy form of a weasel, which floated onto his desk, sat up on its haunches to look at him, and said in his father’s voice, “They’re here. It’s starting.”

Percy wasted no time. The moment his father’s Patronus had delivered its message and dissipated, Percy leapt up and dashed out of his office, arriving in moments outside of the office of his current boss. He gathered himself, gave two sharp, polite raps on the door, and waited.

“Come in,” said a high-pitched, sickly sweet voice from the other side, and he did so.

Dolores Umbridge, Acting Minister for Magic, looked up from the scrolls of parchment at her desk. Percy glanced at them, recognizing a decree abolishing the protected status of all Magical Wildlife Refuges within Britain, which Umbridge had had Percy write out for her earlier that day. “Yes, Mr. Weasley? What is it?”

“I’ve heard from my family, Minister,” he reported, as was his duty. “It’s started.”

A slow, creeping smile spread over Umbridge’s froggy lips. “Very good, Mr. Weasley.”

Soon, Percy found himself in Scotland with Umbridge and several dozen Aurors. They were on a hill outside of Hogwarts, close enough to have some kind of view of what was going on, but far enough that they couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Night had fallen, and even by the light of the full moon, most of what they could see consisted of constant flashes of light and shapes moving around in the darkness—some small, some large, and some impossibly huge.

“They have giants,” murmured an Auror behind Percy who was even younger than Percy himself.

Dawlish, the senior-most Auror present, clenched his teeth and his fists. “Do we go in?”

“Not yet,” Umbridge said in a calm, cool voice. She stood staring serenely at the battlefield, a satisfied smile on her face. “Let’s just see how this plays out.”

After half an hour of standing there doing nothing, the Aurors were getting restless, and Percy couldn’t have said he felt any differently, though he hid his agitation better. His family was down there, fighting for their lives, and here he stood doing nothing.

“This isn’t right,” growled Dawlish, who’d begun pacing five minutes ago. “Minister, people are dying down there!”

“By ‘people’,” she snapped, her high, polite voice razor sharp as she shot a glare at Dawlish, “do you mean the Death Eaters or the terrorists?”

“They’re not terrorists!” blurted one of the other Aurors, another young man barely into his twenties. “My brother’s fighting with Dumbledore’s people, and so is my little sister!”

Umbridge turned cool eyes to him, giving him a small smile that made the Auror’s eyes bulge in fright. “Are they? Interesting.” She pulled a quill and parchment from her robes and scribbled a note.

None of the other Aurors decided to speak up.

“Minister,” Percy said quietly, letting none of his own anxiety into his voice, “am I right in thinking that your plan is to wait until one side neutralizes the other, then send the Aurors in to apprehend what’s left of the winners in order to claim the victory for the Ministry?”

Umbridge gave him a suspicious, calculating look, which Percy took as confirmation.

“Very clever indeed, Minister,” he said, pretending as if he were congratulating her on a cunning chess move. “With this goal in mind, perhaps you would allow me to scout ahead. One man might get close enough undetected to see the ideal moment when it comes and signal back to you so that the winner of this skirmish could be caught at their weakest point, as soon as the rush of victory has lowered their defenses.”

“One man might,” Umbridge agreed thoughtfully. “But why should that man be you, Mr. Weasley? How do I know that once you’re down there you won’t inform your family of our presence?”

“My loyalty is to the Ministry, as it has always been,” he said, matching her cool, detached tone. “Besides, look at them.” He glanced behind them to the skittish Aurors. “Would you trust one of them not to charge in before the right moment?”

She considered this. “You have a point, Mr. Weasley. You have proven yourself exceedingly loyal to the Ministry these past few years. But I know your family, and I very much doubt that even you could be so unlike them that you could stand by idly if you saw them in danger.” Her fingers fiddled absently with a pink heart pendant which rested on her bloated bosom. “However, it seems too dangerous for one person to go alone, and two might be nearly as stealthy as one, and as you say, I’d rather not offer one of the Aurors such a mutinous temptation. Therefore, I shall go with you.”

Percy inclined his head as his heart thumped madly. “Very good, Minister.”

Umbridge turned to Dawlish and said, her words clipped, “Mr. Weasley and I are going in for a better view. Wait for my signal to attack. If any of you join the battle so much as one second too early, you will very seriously regret it.”

The Aurors mumbled acknowledgement of the order.

“What was that?” Umbridge asked sweetly.

“Yes, Minister,” the Aurors said, loudly and clearly.

Percy started down the hill, going slower than he would have liked but as fast as he could with a middle-aged toad lady in a pencil-robe and heels tromping beside him.

“Mr. Weasley,” Umbridge said, drawing her wand, “be a dear and stay in front of me. I don’t really think you’ve got the spine to attack me, but it would ease my mind.”

Percy gave her a look of shock. “I won’t attack you, Minister! I swear!”

Umbridge nodded and waved her wand in a shooing gesture. “I believe you, but all the same.”

While Percy didn’t relish having a duplicitous witch like the Acting Minister at his back, it did allow him to choose the path they took. Umbridge’s attention was so focused on keeping her footing on the soft and uneven ground that she didn’t question where Percy was leading her.

And after all, as she said, Percy Weasley simply didn’t have the spine to tangle with Dolores Umbridge.

“There is a spot up ahead which I believe will be suitable,” Percy said as they walked along a strip of lawn between the Black Lake and the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was well away from the fighting, but they could see much more clearly the figures flying about in the air above the field of battle. “There’s a small rise which should afford us a view of things.”

His words seemed to bring her attention to where she was, and she stopped. “Just up ahead, is it?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

Percy wondered if she’d just realized how familiar this all seemed. When Harry had suggested this plan, Percy hadn’t really thought someone with the guile to become Minister would fall for the same trick twice, but perhaps Umbridge wasn’t as clever as Percy had heard. Or perhaps Percy’s carefully-cultivated reputation was of some use after all.

“Yes, quite,” he answered. “We’re nearly there.” He made it to the top of the small rise, then turned to look at her. “Minister?”

Her wand was pointed at him. “And what will I find just over that rise, Mr. Weasley? A pack of centaurs, perhaps? No, I think I’ll find my own way, thank you.”

She turned to go back the way they’d come.

“No, actually,” Percy said, taking more than a little pleasure in this part. “The centaurs are over there.” He pointed to the forest, where a dozen centaurs were emerging from the tree line, their hooves clip-clopping on the grass as they approached.

Umbridge’s mouth dropped open, her wand fell from her hand, and she started shaking like a leaf. “G-get back,” she said. Then, louder, “Get back!”

She shrieked and ran toward Percy, taking him by surprise. “Help me!” she shrieked, grabbing for him, but he dodged, whirling to run back the way they’d come. Umbridge fumbled around, continuing to grab at him as if he were some lifeline that could save her from the centaurs. She wasn’t graceful or fast, but her bone-deep panic turned her into a wailing, groping menace, and Percy had a hard time staying out of her grasp. Her high heels stuck into the grassy soil, and rather than letting it trap her, she simply stepped out of them. Suddenly much quicker on her feet, she grabbed Percy by the arms, holding him in front of her like a human shield, her hands like claws digging into his biceps. He yelped and tried to get away, but she was incredibly strong for such a short woman, and he couldn’t get free or reach his wand.

“Hello again,” said the lead centaur, who was so dark it was difficult to see him even in the moonlight.

“St-stay back!” Umbridge shouted. But the centaurs continued to approach, slowly and steadily, moving into a half-circle around Umbridge and Percy. Clutching Percy in front of her, Umbridge stumbled backward, toward the edge of the Black Lake.

Percy’s heart was racing. This wasn’t in the plan. She wasn’t supposed to go after him. He should have been well away by now. He wondered if the centaurs would differentiate that much between Umbridge and himself if it came to violence.

“Stay back, you filthy half-breeds!” Umbridge screamed. Splashes punctuated her words as she backed into the water at the edge of the lake. Startled, she looked down and realized she was trapped.

Fury flashed on the faces of the centaurs, and they quickened their approach. “Have you learned nothing?” a blond centaur hissed. “Arrogant human!”

Lake water was soaking into Percy’s shoes, and his own panic was rising. He tried twisting free, but it was no use. Umbridge merely clutched him harder. The ground beneath the water declined quickly, and soon the water was up to Percy’s calves.

No, this was not going at all according to plan.

Suddenly, Umbridge lurched back, and her grip on Percy’s arms yanked him off his feet. For an eternal instant, he flew backward toward the water, flailing helplessly.

Then strong hands grabbed him by the front of his robes, pulling him free of Umbridge’s grasp, holding him in the air with his feet dangling like a child. He twisted his head around and looked behind him in time to see Umbridge being dragged under the water by two merpeople.

It happened nearly too quickly to be seen. He caught a flash of blinding terror on her face, grey limbs wrapped around her body and arms, her pink heart pendant sunken into the soft flesh of her neck—and then she was gone beneath the waves.

She did not come back up.

The centaur holding Percy stepped back out of the lake and set him on his feet on the dry grass.

“Thank you, Bane,” Percy gasped, straightening his robes and trying in vain to compose himself. He knew _thank you_ wasn’t enough, but he didn’t know what else to say, and centaurs were easy to offend.

“Do not expect to be rescued from your carelessness a second time, human,” Bane said. “And do not think to use us as your enforcers again either. That female was a... special circumstance. We should have finished her when we had her the first time.” He looked behind Percy to the lake. “I imagine she’ll soon wish we had. Though not for long.”

Percy nodded vigorously. “Understood. How goes the battle?”

“Not well. We will join our brothers now.”

“Yes.” Percy straightened his back and drew his wand. “So will I. But first, I’m going to get the reinforcements.”


	14. Wolves in the Badgers' Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted's perspective on what went on in the Hufflepuff common room during the battle, and some with the werewolves after.

August 8, 1998

 

It was quiet again, and Ted didn’t know what that meant. Was it over? Had they won? Lost? Why would the rumble of the battle stop so suddenly, and why a second time?

Maybe it hadn’t gone completely silent out there. Maybe the noise had just faded enough that it wasn’t reaching their ears, deep in the belly of the castle.

Evelyn yelled in pain again. Ted looked over from where he stood on the other side of the Hufflepuff common room. The girl was sweating and breathing hard, but he had to give her credit. She was handling things remarkably well for a young woman giving birth in the midst of a battle. The Diggory girl, Antoinette, stood by her side, trying not to show how much Evelyn’s vise grip on her hand was hurting her.

“You’re doing great,” Antoinette told her. It was all just mindless encouragement at this point. She’d been saying the same sorts of things for at least half an hour now.

“Hang in there,” Healer Partridge said from where he sat between Evelyn’s feet, his hands somewhere under the modesty sheet thrown up around her knees. “You’re fully dilated. Just push when you feel the urge.”

“I think I could figure that out!” Evelyn snapped, but Partridge remained unperturbed.

Poppy Pomfrey was fussing over the babies. Ted didn’t move to help; they were only crying because they knew something was wrong, and soothing them right now would be a lie. His namesake grandson was quieter than the Snape boys, but Teddy’s hair was shifting colors like Christmas twinkle lights, just as Dora’s used to do at that age when something upset her.

The young werewolf, Precious, raised her head like she wanted to help, then tucked her nose under her paws and remained curled up in the corner, out of the way. She may have been only a child, but on the potion she was able to keep enough of her sense to know that even an accidental nip would be disastrous for any of the humans in the room.

Kreacher, the former Black house-elf, was muttering to himself and standing guard over James’s crib. He’d arrived seconds after Dora and the others had gone to meet the battle, and he’d been standing guard by the Potter boy ever since. Ted wasn’t at all sure he trusted the elf who’d collaborated with Dromeda’s sisters and helped cause Sirius’s death, but Sirius’s godson seemed to trust him and he hadn’t done anything despicable _lately_ , so Ted didn’t complain.

Dromeda grabbed his arm. “Ted. Look.” She held up the Foe-glass that was hung around her neck. It had been foggy until now, its range short enough that the enemies on the battlefield didn’t set it off. But now faces were becoming clearer—snarling, wolfish faces.

“They’re coming!” he barked, and he and his wife took up positions in front of the door. Any attacker would have to go through them to reach the babies.

Pomfrey drew her wand and stood beside them. And then they waited, listening to the babies crying, Evelyn panting, and Partridge and Antoinette murmuring encouragement to her.

Within a minute, they heard muffled, high-pitched screams from the other side of the hidden passageway. The house-elves were proving their worth. As Ted listened to the shrieks and growls and snarls, he wondered how long they could hold the wolves off and how many would die trying.

One of the wolves must have got past the elves, because Ted heard a huge beast trying to claw its way through the barrels to the passageway before the noise of fighting had subsided.

“One of them’s getting through,” he said, and the women beside him tensed. It didn’t take long before he heard the beast charging through the narrow passage and start working on the door to the common room, the last barrier standing between them. His eyes met Dromeda’s, a silent declaration of love passing between them.

The door’s wood cracked, splintered, and then they could see claws and teeth. Ted tried to think of some poignant last words, but nothing came. Not that it mattered. If he didn’t survive, odds were no one else would be around to remember them anyway.

The wolves spilled into the room in a crash of wood and claws. There were four of them, but he could hear the fight still raging in the hallway, so there must have been more.

The beasts didn’t attack right away. The one in the middle, a huge, mangy thing with mad intelligence in its eyes, stopped in front of Ted, and the three smaller wolves beside it stopped as well, as if hesitant to attack before their leader did. The large wolf scanned the room—then, all at once, the wolves attacked.

Ted tried to stay between the large wolf and whoever it was going after, but the wolf batted him away easily, sending him sprawling to the floor. As he jumped back to his feet, Ted could see Partridge throwing himself between one of the smaller wolves and the young woman giving birth, trying to protect her and the other girl. Partridge tried to use his wand, realized immediately that it was useless, then picked up the stool he’d been sitting on and swung it with all his strength at the wolf, keeping it at bay.

Dromeda cried out, and Ted turned to see her struggling with the smallest wolf. She was standing in front of the crib where Cedric and Cubby lay screaming, holding Teddy in one arm and trying to keep the wolf away with her wand. The wolf was only making tentative lunges, momentarily driven away by Dromeda’s kicks and Stinging Hexes. Ted pounced on it, grabbing the wolf in both hands, pulling it away from his wife and grandson.

The wolf snapped and twisted in his grip, snarling and whining, and Ted wondered what exactly he’d planned to do once he got hold of the thing. It was all he could do to keep its teeth away from his skin, and its claws lashed out at him. Pain lanced through him as he struggled with the wolf. He had its neck in his hands and was hanging on for dear life, but this couldn’t last long. He was stronger than the wolf, but not by much. With a shout, he swung the beast hard, smashing its body against the wall. The wolf gave a sharp, pitiful yelp of pain, and Ted dropped it to the floor.

The wolf lay there, whining helplessly. It tried to get up, to continue its attack, but its front leg collapsed under it, and it gave up, licking its injured limb and continuing to whine.

“Watch it,” Ted told Dromeda, and turned back to the other wolves.

Kreacher was fighting the fourth wolf, defending the crib that held James and Royal with single-minded devotion. The elf was already injured badly, but its magic was hurting the wolf, as well.

A glance to the other side of the room told Ted that Partridge wouldn’t last much longer. He was still swinging the stool for all he was worth, but he was a Healer, not a fighter, and he clearly had no idea what he was doing. Ted ran over to help him. He grabbed a poker by the fireplace and swung it at the wolf, landing a blow on its flanks. It yelped and backed off. Faced with two armed men, it cut its losses and ran out of the room.

Almost exhausted by now, Ted took a couple deep breaths, meaning to go help Kreacher next. He saw the other wolf limping away, being shooed out by Madam Pomfrey, and Kreacher was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. But the wolf hadn’t made it to the crib.

Only the big wolf was left. Amidst the cries of the infants and the screams of the woman in labor arose a sickening duet of snarls and yelps and growls. Precious was under attack from the huge wolf more than three times her size. It tore at her mercilessly, biting her, scratching her. It didn’t go for the kill. It seemed to want to make her suffer.

Ted yelled and ran at the wolf with the poker. It looked up, saw that the other wolves were gone or out of commission, and let Precious go. Ted thought he might be able to drive it off—but the wolf wasn’t done. Ignoring the lashes Ted dealt it with the poker, the wolf lunged at the basket the Snape girl was lying in, grabbed her blankets in its teeth, and bolted out of the room.

“No!” Ted charged after the wolf, but it was too fast. By the time he got to the end of the passageway and into the main corridor, he barely saw the wolf’s tail as it turned a corner. Dead and wounded elves and wolves littered the corridor, but at least this fight was over.

He went back to the common room to assess the damage. Kreacher had died defending his young master, and Precious was in bad shape, but none of the humans appeared to be hurt. He went directly to his wife, who still held Teddy, and wrapped them both in his arms.

“The babies?” he asked.

“Unharmed,” Pomfrey said, then swiped at a tear. “Except... That poor girl... That monster...”

“We kept five of them safe,” he said, not willing to let the sense of failure cripple him now. Not when they weren’t sure things were over yet. “Under the circumstances, it’s probably the best anyone could have done.” None of them seemed particularly comforted by his words. “Was anyone bitten?” After being assured that none of them had been, he took a deep breath of relief and sank into an armchair.

“Here,” Pomfrey said, bringing her medical kit over to him. “You’re covered in scratches.” Without waiting for his consent, she began tending his wounds.

Dromeda laid a hand on his shoulder. “Those _are_ all scratches?”

He put his hand on hers and gave her a weak, reassuring smile. “Don’t fret, love. There’s still only one werewolf in the family.” He looked down at the wolf who’d attacked him. It was still lying on the ground, whimpering in pain. Someone had tied a rope around its muzzle, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of it.

Evelyn screamed again. Partridge, who’d been standing around looking dazed and confused, put his stool back into position and hunkered down with his head between the young woman’s legs. “It’s coming! I can see the head! Push, Evelyn, push!”

“You can do it!” Antoinette cheered. She’d been completely useless in the fight. Ted didn’t think any less of her for it, though. Most teenagers would have been frozen in terror as she’d been, faced with four werewolves in close quarters.

Ted watched with weary curiosity. He’d only ever seen Dora’s and Teddy’s births. It was different, somehow, when he had no personal connection to the child.

“Remember about the name,” Antoinette told Evelyn, hurrying as if she’d just remembered herself. “Whatever you say after the baby’s born is its name. Have you picked one?”

“No,” Evelyn replied through gritted teeth. “I want to let them pick. Tell them when they get here. I won’t say anything until they tell me what to name it.”

“Are you sure?” Antoinette asked. “They said we could—”

Evelyn screamed again. There was a wet sound, and a broad, white grin sprang up on Partridge’s face.

“It’s a girl!” he announced, cradling a wet, squirming body in his hands. He waved at Antoinette. “Antoinette, the towel, please.” She handed it to him and he wiped the baby off, then wrapped her in a yellow blanket that Antoinette handed him next. When he finally held her up, Ted thought she looked remarkably like most newborns, except larger than Teddy had been when he’d come out. She was two weeks overdue, though.

Partridge handed the baby to Evelyn and, true to her word, she didn’t say anything, though she sagged with relief and exhaustion. As Evelyn held her, Partridge waved his wand over the baby and then announced, “Perfectly healthy. Well done, Miss Rosier.” Evelyn shot him a glare, but kept her mouth shut. Which was probably for the best. Ted didn’t think either Snape or Hermione would react well to having their daughter named Sodoff.

“I’m fine now,” Ted told Pomfrey. She’d managed to almost completely heal his scratches already. “You should keep an eye on the baby. Partridge, can you do anything for Precious?”

Partridge looked up, apparently just remembering there was a young werewolf girl lying torn to a bloody pulp on the ground a few feet away. “Oh, right! Of course.” He grabbed his supplies and went to her. “Um, now, watch your teeth, okay?” he told her as he knelt beside her. “This is probably going to hurt.”

“She’s barely conscious, Partridge,” Ted said. “I don’t think she’s in any position to bite you.”

Dromeda sat on the arm of the chair, and they watched the Foe-glass in tense silence. Several minutes passed, and then they heard something from the corridor outside, something that didn’t sound like injured elves and wolves moving about. But the Foe-glass remained foggy.

“It’s a wolf!” Pomfrey said suddenly, her eyes wide like a trapped rabbit’s. Ted heard it too. Soft paws, the clack of nails on stone... and human footfalls with it. He stood up, hoping.

Dora sprinted through the busted doorway, saw them, and breathed, “Oh, thank God.” Ted went to her, throwing his arms around her and squeezing as tightly as he could without hurting her as they both broke down in relieved tears. His daughter had survived. She was safe. He saw Remus the wolf, with his painted handprints and white T mark on his head, rush in behind her. He went past her to Dromeda, who knelt down and ruffled his fur while he nuzzled Teddy, assuring himself that his son was okay.

Ted smiled like a fool. His family was still whole. They’d all survived what had probably been the worst battle the Wizarding world had seen in fifty years. He knew a lot of other people surely hadn’t, but at that moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he still had his family.

“Is it over?” he asked. He knew they probably wouldn’t have come back for any other reason, but he had to be sure.

“Yeah,” Dora said into his chest. Then she looked up at him, her face wet and haunted. “For a lot of people.”

He finally let her go hug her mother and son. “Voldemort?”

“Dead,” she confirmed. She took Teddy from Dromeda and pressed her cheek to his. “By his own Killing Curse. It rebounded off of—” She looked at the cribs. “Was it Luna?”

“Yes,” said Pomfrey, who was listening eagerly to the news. “Do you mean she’s alive?”

“Yeah. It bounced right off her and back to him.”

“How—” Pomfrey asked, but Tonks shook her head.

“I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll figure it out later. To be honest, right now I don’t much care how.” She looked at Remus. “Greyback’s dead, too.”

Greyback. Of course. He must have been the huge wolf who’d led the others in the assault. He would have been able to sniff out children easily, even in a school. “Good,” Ted said coldly, and they left it at that.

Snape came in then, and others soon after. Pomfrey and Partridge were whisked away to tend to injured witches and wizards. The cleanup after the battle was like a nightmare come to life. Bodies everywhere, many that Ted recognized. Injured by the dozens, but at least most of them would survive, in one form or another. He and Dromeda helped as much as they could. Since they hadn’t lost family members or close friends and had seen the least fighting, they were in better emotional shape to give support where it was needed.

When the sun rose, the wolves transformed. Those who’d been injured were given clothes and put in the Great Hall. A few of Greyback’s pack were arrested immediately, but most of them had been forced into the battle against their will, so they were put with the others for the time being. Most of the humans couldn’t tell the difference between the two groups of werewolves, anyway. But their presence made the humans uncomfortable, so they weren’t put in the hospital wing with the other injured. They’d fought with wizards, but they still had a long way to go before they’d be treated equally by them.

Once Remus was human again, he didn’t have time to get the rest he needed and deserved. The other werewolves seemed to see him as their leader now, so he had a lot to talk to them about and see to. When Ted went to try to get a moment alone with his son-in-law, he saw Abednego and Tessa sitting with Precious.

“How is she?” he asked. She was breathing, but fresh wounds were oozing blood all over her body, and the white bandages were only slowing her bleeding.

“The Healer that saw her thinks she’ll make it,” said Abed. His voice was tight with helpless anger. “He put these bandages on her, but he said they’ll need more time and maybe a specialist to get her healed, but of course...”

“She’ll never heal completely,” Ted said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.”

“No one could,” Tessa said. “Not once Greyback decided to go after her. It was him, wasn’t it?”

“I think so. I’d never seen Greyback as a wolf, but I think it was him. He’s the one the others were following.”

Tessa nodded. “She was his daughter, you know. He was punishing her for leaving him.”

Ted’s gorge rose. “His daughter?” He’d been even more a monster than Ted had known. He almost wished Greyback was still alive so he could have a much slower death than Remus had given him.

Ted felt a tug on his sleeve and looked behind him to see a thin and sickly-looking boy who appeared no older than twelve. His left arm was bound up in a makeshift sling. “Hello?” he said, wondering why the boy had approached him. Perhaps he needed help with something.

“Hello,” said the boy. After briefly meeting Ted’s eyes, he looked down as if ashamed. “I wanted to say... I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Ted asked, bemused. “For what?”

“For hurting you.” The boy looked at Ted’s arm, where his shirt sleeve was torn and some of the scratches still hadn’t got healed yet.

Ted looked closer at the boy’s injured arm. Merlin’s balls, this child was the wolf he’d fought! The one who had come close to overpowering him. The one he’d slammed into a wall. He felt like some kind of child abuser.

“Er, that’s all right,” he muttered. “You couldn’t help it.”

“That’s true,” the boy admitted.

“How’s your arm?”

“Broken,” said the boy. “A mediwitch came by and gave me some painkilling potion, but she said it’ll be a while until they can get to me. Since it’s not life-threatening and...” He shrugged.

“And you’re a werewolf.” Ted pursed his lips. This anti-werewolf prejudice was getting aggravating. He didn’t know how Remus could have put up with this his whole life. “What’s your name?”

The boy thought about this. “Greyback called me Nip. But my parents called me Miles.”

“Where are your parents, Miles?”

“Dead,” Abed said in a low voice. “Greyback killed them when he took him. As far as I know, Nip—er, Miles—doesn’t have any family.”

“What will happen to him?”

“I guess that depends on if they send him to Azkaban with the rest of us.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Why the bloody hell would they send you to Azkaban?”

Abed shrugged. “Last I checked, it was still illegal to be a werewolf.”

Oh, right. “I’m sure the Order won’t let that happen.” Well, he was pretty sure, anyway. He’d heard that Umbridge had died during the battle somehow. If someone decent took over as Minister, they could get that ridiculous law repealed. “So, barring that, what happens to him?”

“That’s a good question. But how many people do you know who’d want to adopt a werewolf?”

Ted looked at the boy. Maybe it was the injury, but he felt responsible for him. “Are you a wizard, Miles?”

Miles looked at Abed uncertainly. “I think so. I made a rock move once, and one time I set someone’s hair on fire by accident.”

Ted glanced up and saw Remus a few steps away. He was talking with some other werewolves, but Ted could see him watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Moment of truth, then. He’d known Remus Lupin for years, even before he’d become his son-in-law, so he’d long held the belief that werewolves should be treated equally. When Dora had told him she and Remus were getting married, he hadn’t given more than passing voice to his concerns for her safety. Now, here was a child who needed help, and he could help him. What would he do?

He put a hand on Miles’s shoulder and smiled. “How would you like to come live with us, Miles?”

Hope lit in Miles’s eyes, then was quickly tampered down. “But I’m a werewolf.”

Ted chuckled. “I know.” He nodded toward Remus, who met his eyes fully now. There was a small, pleased smile on the other man’s face. “So’s my son-in-law.”

Miles looked from Ted to Remus, his eyes widening. “You really mean it?”

“I’ll have to ask my wife, but I think she’ll agree to it. Now that our daughter’s an old married lady, we’ve got an empty room in our house. We can get you a wand and teach you some magic. Would you like that?”

Miles’s face had got so bright with hope, Ted feared that he might have said too much. What if they _did_ want to send him to Azkaban? What if they wouldn’t let him have a wand? Oh well, the words were out now, and Ted would do his best to stick by them. At least he hadn’t mentioned Hogwarts. That would take a real miracle.

“Yes please,” Miles said, his eyes beginning to leak. He must not have been with the pack for all that long; he still had manners.

Miles hugged him around the waist with his good arm, and Ted laid a hand on his head.

“Thank you,” said Abed. He and Tessa both were looking at Ted with a sort of grateful disbelief. “You’re a good man.”

Ted let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “Just doing what I can.” He gently moved Miles away from him, but kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Okay, Miles. What say you and I go find Dromeda?”


	15. Jill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle, Tonks goes home to meet Lupin's mom and meets his sister instead.

August 9, 1998

 

The neighborhood was pleasant enough. Quiet, suburban, tranquil. After the night she’d had, she felt like she’d walked onto an alien planet. She and Remus had worked all night after the battle helping to clean up the aftermath. Once the sun rose and Remus transformed, he’d spent several more hours dealing with the werewolves. He’d been a bit stunned to realize they all considered him the Alpha now, but he took to leading them with grace, humility, and a firm hand. She was more than a little proud of him.

By mid-morning, they’d both wanted nothing more than to escape to their borrowed room with their baby, curl up, and sleep for a day or so. But nothing like that would be happening for a while. Remus had insisted that he needed to tell his family he was okay. Before the battle, he’d gone to his mother and her family to tell them the battle would be happening and what it would mean if they didn’t hear from him soon. He didn’t want them to worry any longer than necessary. Tonks wondered how much they’d really been worrying.

She was trying to keep an open mind. Really, she was. But after years of hearing Remus make excuses for the awful way his mother treated him—first divorcing his father and leaving the family after Remus was bitten, then refusing to come visit him, not even sending a congratulatory letter when Remus graduated from Hogwarts, and her ungratefulness about the Christmas and birthday presents Remus had used some of his sparse funds to buy her just because they had any traces of magic about them—she couldn’t quite work herself up to being eager to meet the woman.

“She’s changed,” Remus had told her more than once. “Yes, she almost refused to let us stay at her house when we needed to go into hiding, but it _is_ an awfully large thing to ask someone, and she did let us in the end. And you can’t say her fears weren’t warranted, seeing as the Death Eaters _did_ come, and they nearly destroyed her house in the attack. I shouldn’t have even asked her to help, knowing the danger, but—Now don’t look that way, Dora. Fine, I’ll get to the point. We had some chats while I was there, and we sorted through a lot of things. Just please give her a chance. She’s the only mother I’ve got, Dora, and I’d like you to get along.”

So, when Remus knocked on the door of the (still-being-repaired) beige house, Tonks plastered on a smile and resolved to make an effort.

When the door opened, Tonks’s fake smile fell half-way. The woman standing just inside was a far cry from the sixty-something-year-old she’d been expecting.

“Remus!” yelled a bubbly, attractive woman who couldn’t have been older than Tonks herself, and distinctly lacking the lingering baby weight and filth of battle. She rolled her _R_ s in what seemed to Tonks almost an obscene manner. “Yeh’re alive!” The young woman threw her arms around Remus with a huge smile, and Remus turned to the side a bit to hug her back with one arm while making sure the oblivious woman didn’t crush Teddy in his baby sling. Tonks’s smile fell entirely when she saw Remus smiling broadly, apparently as glad to see her. Her eyes narrowed, and she went into Auror mode. She didn’t like having distrustful feelings about her husband, but she even less liked seeing some strange, young hottie wrapping herself around him and him not resisting in the least.

The woman released Remus, and he turned to Tonks, wearing a slightly dazed smile. “Dora, this is Jill McAlister, my sister. Well, half-sister.”

Tonks blinked in surprised. Of course. He’d mentioned—

“Dora!” Jill rushed at Tonks and threw her arms around her as eagerly as she had Remus. “It’s so good te meet ye!”

Finally, her brain got past the relief and she laughed, returning the hug just a moment later than she ought to have. “Jill! Remus’s _sister_! It’s very good to meet you, too.” She felt silly for not realizing it immediately. Her brain must still have been worn out from the battle.

When Jill let go of her and stepped back, Tonks took a closer look.... Yes, of course. She should have seen it immediately. They had the same eyes, mouth, the same hair... Jill even had a more feminine version of Remus’s nose.

“Can ye believe Mum never told me she was married before, much less that she had another kid?” said Jill, still speaking so loudly she could surely have been heard across the street. “When I found out, I didn’t talk te her for a week. What kinda person hides a thing like tha’ from her own flesh and blood, I ask ye? O’ course I suppose I should’a wondered, with her bein’ a bit past her prime when she had me, but who thinks, ‘Oh, I wonder if me mum had a whole other family she never mentioned’? And a magic one, too! I about clobbered George when he offered te ‘show me his wand’, but then there it is! Spells and all! And if that ain’t a right trick!” Finally, she looked at what Remus was holding at his chest. “Remus? Why have ye go’ a tiny wee baby strapped to ye?”

Remus shifted Teddy a bit so Jill could see his face. “This is our son, Teddy.”

“Your son? Oh, he’s just the cutest thing!” Jill squealed.

The sound must have startled Teddy, because his hair suddenly turned from subdued brown to bright green. This only made Jill squeal louder. “He changes colors!”

Tonks glanced over her shoulder at an old woman who’d peered out of her door a couple houses down. “Can we come inside?” she asked Jill quickly. “We do try to keep the magic talk to a minimum around Muggles.”

Jill’s hand flew to her mouth and she looked deeply remorseful. “I’m so sorry! Aye, this way, come in!”

Tonks grinned. “I like your sister,” she told Remus in a low voice as they followed her into the house. “Very Scottish.”

The house was cluttered, and parts of it looked freshly repaired. It had a homey, lived-in sort of feel to it.

“Where’s Mum?” Remus asked.

“She and Da went te church,” Jill said. “Go’ tired of sittin’ around worryin’, so they figured they’d do some prayin’ for ye.”

Remus smiled. “That was kind of them. Will they be back soon?”

“Don’t know. They didn’t say. Just asked me te stay here and wai’ for ye.” Jill’s expression turned grave. “How’d it go?”

Remus’s expression soured. “Not well. But we won, in the end.”

Jill gave both of them a look as if noticing something she hadn’t yet. “Ye both look exhausted.”

“It’s been a rough night,” Tonks admitted. “There’s still a lot to do. We can’t really stay long.”

A determined expression settled over Jill’s features, and Tonks and Remus watched, puzzled, as she scribbled a note, stuck it to the refrigerator with a magnet, and pulled on a jacket. “Righ’, then. Let’s go.”

Remus sighed. “Jill, there’s not—”

“I’ve left a note,” she pointed out, as if they hadn’t seen her do it. “Mum and Da won’t have te worry, and ye can come back to see them la’er. But if there’s work te be done, I want te help.”

“But you’re a Muggle,” Remus reminded her.

Jill nodded. “Which is why ye said I couldn’t help with the fightin’.” Tonks was surprised. Jill had wanted to help fight their battle? “But there’s go’ to be somethin’ I can do now.”

“But you won’t even be able to see the school.”

Tonks frowned, suddenly feeling a keen empathy for Jill. She knew what it was like for people to tell her no when she wanted to do whatever she could to help. “There’s a charm to let her see it,” she reminded Remus, then she addressed Jill. “I’m sure an extra pair of hands would be appreciated. Thank you.”

“Good. Now let’s be off.”

Remus looked from Tonks to Jill like a rabbit cornered between two wolves, then sighed and shook his head. “All right. But be careful. There may still be Dark wizards around. And make sure none of the werewolves get their teeth on you. Not all of them are necessarily friendly, and even in human form our bites can do permanent damage.”

“Aye, big brother,” Jill teased, then winked at Tonks. Checking to make sure the door was locked, she looked expectantly at them. “Now wha’?”

Tonks grinned. “Just take my arm. This might feel a bit weird.”


	16. Re-Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Snape get a proper wedding, have a reception, and make some plans for the future.

August 29, 1998

 

In the end, their second wedding wasn’t _quite_ as ostentatious as could be imagined, but it came close.

“Ready?” asked Dad, showing her his pearly white teeth.

Hermione took the arm he offered. “Been ready for ages.”

It was a warm, slightly overcast day, just right for an outdoor wedding. They’d found a reasonably flat area on the Hogwarts grounds, well away from where the battle had been but not too far from the graveyard. Some might have thought the choice of location morbid, but Hermione would have wanted Harry and the rest of her missing friends to be there. This way, she felt they were still close.

Her father walked her down the aisle between the gathered crowd. All of her surviving friends had come, as well as the rest of the Order, and a large number of people who were just acquaintances or were merely curious bystanders. Hermione didn’t mind. She’d even allowed Rita Skeeter to attend, knowing she was planning to write some sort of article to attempt to excuse the whole S.P.E.W. nonsense that was now commonly known to have been Voldemort’s idea all along—with the agreement that the reporter would not cause a disturbance. After all, given Rita Skeeter’s abilities, it would have been difficult to successfully ban her.

Hermione beamed as she approached the front, where Severus stood in green dress robes, watching her intently. Remus stood beside him in new dress robes of his own, and Tonks was already in place to stand with Hermione.

When Dad placed her hand in Severus’s, he gave her husband a warning look, but it was just for show. He and Mum both had already come to terms with their daughter’s unusual marriage. Hermione felt only a little guilty about that. During the three weeks of wedding planning, Hermione and Severus had gone to Australia to retrieve her parents and restore their memories. But she’d cheated a little. She hadn’t looked forward to explaining to her parents that their daughter, who the last they knew was about to start her final year of school, was now married to one of her teachers and a mother of four. So, instead, she’d asked Severus to use his prodigious skills to plant some false memories—ones where they found out about the marriage months ago and had already worked through all of the shock and outrage. It wasn’t mind _control_ , exactly. They had the same reactions they would have had if she’d told them now—they just had them inside their own minds in the space of a few seconds.

Hermione stood beside her husband and glanced back at the crowd. Her parents were in the front row beside the Weasleys, who were as good as family to her. The front row on Severus’s side was filled with Order members, as he had no living family of his own. Mum smiled, tears in her eyes already, and waved one of Luna’s little hands. For all the babies in the crowd, they were being remarkably calm. Hermione hoped no one had slipped them a potion, but she did appreciate the quiet.

“Dearly beloved,” said the minister, launching into his part of the ceremony. They’d opted for a traditional Muggle ceremony, partly for her parents’ sake and partly because they’d already had a Wizarding one. The minister was an old friend of her parents’ who, as luck would have it, had a witch cousin and knew a thing or two about discretion.

Severus’s hand was warm in hers, and there was emotion hidden in his eyes that she knew most of the others were unable to read. She stood with him, looking into his eyes, as the minister worked through his paces. When he asked if anyone objected, no one did. Not even Ron, though Hermione knew he wouldn’t have said anything even if he’d come. He’d accepted her choice. She could understand why he couldn’t bring himself to be here, though she had to admit it hurt a little.

“Do you have the rings?” asked the minister.

Remus and Tonks handed Severus and Hermione the simple bands of twined gold and silver. Severus slipped the more dainty one onto her finger as he repeated the vows the minister read for him, and Hermione followed suit.

And then the minister said, “I pronounce you still man and wife. You may—”

Severus pulled Hermione to himself and gave her that thorough snogging she’d demanded. When the catcalls died down, he broke the kiss and smirked at her. “Never complain that I don’t give you what you want.”

Red-faced, she smacked his chest playfully. “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

He just kept smirking.

Neither of them had any desire to stand there while people queued up to congratulate them, so instead they all adjourned to the Great Hall for the reception. The elves had outdone themselves with cakes and puddings; it was an impressive spread, especially considering their reduced numbers.

Hermione mingled and chatted with practically everyone. She’d introduced her parents to a great many wizards and witches, but they ended up talking the most with Remus’s Muggle half-sister, Jill, who’d been the young woman sitting beside him at the funeral. Hermione had learned that Jill had been at their mother’s house while Remus and Harry and the others were hiding out there, and had evidently got to know them all pretty well. She hadn’t known anything about magic or about her mum’s previous family, but she was doing her best to catch up now. Scratch was standing with her, flirting shamelessly and still gloating like a peacock over having killed part of Voldemort. Jill mostly ignored him for the moment, gaping with Hermione’s parents at the wonders of Hog-warts and the curiosities around them. The same charm had been placed on Mum and Dad as had been put on Jill and Dudley at the funeral, allowing them to see Hogwarts for what it was rather than a ruin. Hermione had been sure to learn the charm, as it seemed like something that could be useful in future.

As she was getting more punch, Firenze approached her with a strange expression on his face. It looked something like embarrassment and disapproval, which struck Hermione as funny, coming from a person who walked around naked all the time—much less a teacher whose horsey-bits were disturbingly close to a child’s eye level. There was another centaur with him, as well, one whose name Hermione couldn’t remember. This other centaur was looking at her with a cocky lopsided smile and a sort of leering appreciation.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Snape,” Firenze said, and for a moment she was so distracted by his use of that name that she didn’t hear what he said next. It was the first time anyone had called her that. She decided she rather liked the sound of it. “For future reference,” Firenze continued, speaking in a stiff, overly polite way, “the west side of the hillock near the graveyard might be shielded from view of the castle, but it has a rather good view of the forest.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “And vice versa.”

Hermione’s face burned, and she was sure she was blushing all the way to her toes.

The centaur with Firenze winked at her. “Hey.”

“Er, thank you for the advice,” she murmured, feeling like she’d spontaneously combust any moment now. “I have to go... over here...” She slipped through the crowd and broke into a conversation between Lavender and Parvati.

When she’d come to grips with her embarrassment and figured out ways to never have to speak to a centaur again, her mind started drifting from Lavender’s explanation of how Parvati could use her newfound wolfishness to her advantage in romance. She must have been looking bored for some time, or perhaps Minerva just had good timing. The Hogwarts headmistress extricated her from the conversation without Lavender or Parvati even noticing.

“Congratulations,” Minerva said, smiling. “I’m glad that this worked out so well between you and Severus, and I wish you many happy years together.”

“So am I, and thank you.”

“If I may ask,” Minerva continued, a businesslike element creeping into her tone, “have the two of you considered what you’ll do now?”

Hermione blinked and realized that they hadn’t. The past few weeks had been so busy, she hadn’t had time to sit down and really think about her future. And the future she’d once planned on didn’t quite fit anymore with the life she had now. “No. Actually, I guess I haven’t.”

Minerva nodded as if she’d expected this. “You know, I’ve asked Neville to become the new Herbology teacher, after another year or so of study, of course. He’s agreed.”

“Really? Good for him!” Hermione had never considered Neville teaching before, but it occurred to her that he’d probably be very good at it, in a subject that he knew as well as Herbology.

“I find myself in need of a new Arithmancy teacher, as well,” Minerva said.

Hermione’s smile fell, reminded of Professor Vector’s death. She’d been a stern teacher, but Hermione had liked her. “Yes. What will you do?”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “I was hoping you might help me with that.”

“Oh. Sure, I could help you choose a new one, though I’m not sure what I could contribute that—”

“I’ve already chosen one, Hermione. I’m asking if you want the post.”

“Oh,” Hermione said again. She’d never considered _herself_ teaching either. “But I haven’t even taken my N.E.W.T.s.”

Minerva nodded. “So take them. And when you pass with flying colors, you can do another year or two of independent research to be-come even more proficient. It really is a shame there are no Wizarding universities around, but I suppose there aren’t enough scholarly-minded witches and wizards to support one. But you’ve got enough self-motivation for twenty university students, and you already know more about Arithmancy than most professionals in the field. Or so Professor Vector told me.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to say. “That... It’s an intriguing offer.” Though _tempting_ was more what she meant.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Minerva said, touching her arm. “We all have, but you’ve got four babies and a fresh marriage on top of it. Take your N.E.W.T.s, and then take a year off. I’m giving Severus a year’s sabbatical as well. I’ll hire temporary teachers for the interim. If you need another year, you can have it.”

Hermione considered the offer. She’d thought about studying Wizarding law and working in the Ministry, but now she had children to consider. What was best for them? If Severus continued teaching and she took this post, they could all live at Hogwarts. It would certainly make some things a bit easier.

“Think it over and get back to me,” Minerva told her. “But I warn you, I don’t accept rejection easily.” She gave Hermione another pat on the shoulder before moving on.

Hermione found Severus and told him about the job offer. He didn’t say anything, just listened to her, and then thought about it for a minute. Finally, he spoke. “I agree. You should take the post, if you think you’d like it. It makes sense.”

“It does if you’re still teaching,” Hermione argued, secretly glad that he’d agreed with her assessment. “But don’t you hate teaching? Weren’t you only doing it because Dumbledore wanted you to? You could do anything you want now.”

A slow, careful smile spread over Severus’s face, and he looked to where Hermione’s parents were now holding Luna and Eileen. “Perhaps,” he said, “but I find I now have a vested interest in the continuing quality of education here.”

Hermione beamed, already thinking of what sort of independent study she’d do in Arithmancy to make herself worthy of teaching it, when Tonks and Remus appeared out of nowhere.

“We just heard the news,” said Remus. “Congratulations, Hermione. You’ll be a fine teacher.”

“Just heard?” repeated Severus incredulously. “She hasn’t even decided if she’ll take it. Were you eavesdropping?”

“Sure she has,” Tonks insisted. “Look at her. And yes, we were.”

Severus muttered something impolite. “Is there a reason you interrupted us?”

Remus suddenly looked uncertain. “Er, yes. We heard you’ve been given a year’s sabbatical, and we’ve got... well, an offer.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of offer?”

“It’s about, er, Grimmauld Place.” Remus looked positively depressed for a moment, and Hermione felt an empathetic twinge in her gut, knowing why. “It had belonged to Harry, but now... Well, it’s James’s, but Ron insists that he’ll give James a home and he doesn’t need some dusty old house. So in the mean time, until James comes of age and decides if he wants it or not...”

Tonks took over for him. “It’s the Black family home, and if Sirius hadn’t given it to Harry, it would have gone to Bellatrix. Except now she’s barmy in St. Mungo’s and Narcissa’s dead, and Mum doesn’t need it. And here Remus and I are with just my tiny, one-bedroom flat between us.”

“So they’ve given you the use of it for the next seventeen years or so,” Severus drawled. “How exciting for you.” Hermione could see what he was really thinking: Yet one more thing has fallen into place for Remus’s benefit. Really, her husband was so silly sometimes.

“That’s not what we were getting at,” said Remus. “Look, Severus, I know you two don’t plan to live with Hermione’s parents, and you can’t tell me that tiny shack of yours will be enough for you with four kids.”

Severus’s eyes were growing hard. “I’m sure we’ll manage in my _tiny shack_ ,” he ground out.

Remus sighed. “I’m not insulting you, Severus. I’m asking you to live with us while you’re not at Hogwarts.”

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him right. “Live with you two?”

“Us three,” Tonks corrected.

“Forget it.” A vein in Severus’s forehead had popped out. “We don’t need your charity, Lupin.”

Remus’s exasperated look turned into a glare, and he grabbed Severus by the elbow. “Excuse us for a moment, ladies?” he said, dragging Severus a few feet away.

Confused, Hermione raised her eyebrows at Tonks, but the other woman had become suddenly morose and was pretending not to hear what Remus was saying, though Hermione could clearly hear his sharp whispers.

“I’m not offering charity,” Remus hissed. “I’m asking you for a favor.”

“How is living with you a favor?” Severus asked suspiciously.

Remus raked a hand through his hair. “You know what I am, Severus. You know what I can do. You know how dangerous I can be.”

“I’m fairly certain we all know that now,” Severus said snidely, “including Tonks.”

“Yes, but—” He let out a harsh breath and his whispering became even quieter. “But you’re the only person I know who would do whatever was necessary to protect my family from me.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Severus said, “You want me to live with you... because I’m willing to _kill_ you?”

Remus hung his head. “Yes. Come live with us, Severus. During your sabbatical and during the summers. It would ease my mind to know that at least during those times there was someone in the house who had both the power and will to stop me... if it ever became necessary.”

Severus was silent again, considering. Hermione felt ill. Could Severus really kill him? Yes, she knew he could, if it was really needed. He’d make the hard choice without even flinching. Because that’s what Severus did. Now she understood why Tonks suddenly looked so miserable.

The two men returned, and Severus said, “If you’d like to take them up on their offer, Hermione, I’d agree to it.”

Hermione hated Remus’s reason for asking, but she knew he was right—and she thought it likely that it was also partly an excuse. If Remus and Tonks had suddenly found themselves the owners of such a large house, Hermione thought that they’d come up with whatever reason they needed to convince Severus—who’d become a valued if unlikely friend to both of them—to take the help they could offer him and Hermione and their kids. Because the house on Spinner’s End really was far too small for such a large family, and having two extra adults in the same house, even with an extra baby, would probably be a lot of help.

She smiled and tried to pretend she hadn’t heard their conversation. “I’d like that, Severus. I think it would be good for us and for the kids.”

Severus nodded beneficently. “Very well. We accept your offer, Lupin.”

Remus nodded and smiled wanly at Tonks, who took his hand but couldn’t quite return the smile.

“You can move in whenever you like,” Remus told them. “We’ve already moved our things in, such as they are.”

“I’ll arrange it to be done while we’re away,” Severus said.

“See you then, then,” Tonks said, and gave Hermione a hug. “Have fun, you two.”

After Tonks and Remus left, Hermione and Severus mingled for a while longer. About two hours after the reception had started, Hermione noticed Ron standing among them.

“Excuse me,” she told Severus, moving away from him. His eyes flicked to Ron, but he didn’t protest. Apparently he knew he had nothing more to be jealous about.

She walked up to Ron as he stood at the cake table, loading a plate with slices of every kind. “Hi.”

He turned and saw her. “Hi.” He sounded like someone who’d lost his two best friends. He still needed more time, she guessed.

“How’s James?” she asked.

One side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “He’s good. Pretty quiet, too, for a baby.”

“Molly said you were getting a place for the two of you soon?”

“Yeah. I found a flat in Diagon Alley.”

“But how will you... er...” She hadn’t meant to ask about money, but it just sort of slipped out.

“Kingsley offered me a job as an Auror. I’ll have enough money.”

“An Auror! But that takes years of training, and you haven’t even taken your N.E.W.T.s.” Whoops. That just slipped out too.

He didn’t seem to mind her impertinence. She supposed he was used to it by now. “Perks of being a war hero, I guess.” He shrugged. “He offered Neville a job, too, but it sounds like Neville’d rather be a teacher.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

They stood there awkwardly for several seconds. She hated how difficult things had become between them. “I’ll floo you when we get back. We’ll have tea or something.”

This only seemed to deflate him even more. “Oh, yeah. Finally having a honeymoon, right? That’s... great.”

She sighed and stepped closer to him. “Ron, this is stupid. I get that you need time, and I’m willing to give it to you, but I’m not going to just let you wander out of my life altogether. I’ve put seven years into you, and I’m not giving you up that easily. Okay?”

He met her gaze, and she saw a spark of something in his blue eyes. A small, fond smile brushed away some of his melancholy. “Same old Hermione. Do me a favor. Don’t ever change.”

She hugged him, and he hugged her back. “Take care of James, and be sure to bring him ’round for visits. I made that promise to Harry too.”

“’Course,” he said.

“See you when I get back, Ron,” she said, and then she left him and walked back to her husband.


	17. Another Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of Hermione and Snape's life during summers at Grimmauld Place.

July 19, 2002

 

Severus sighed.

It was a rare morning when he was able to lounge in bed with his wife and enjoy a good book. Ordinarily he only had time for Potions texts or a newspaper, but this morning he was indulging in some sort of Muggle thriller. His own life had grown significantly less perilous after the war, and he’d begun to take an odd pleasure from reading about other people facing danger. Doing so from the comfort and security of his own bed only served to underline the fact that it was no longer he who was forced to risk his life day in and day out.

Hermione, of course, had chosen a biography. Some sort of play-wright, if Severus wasn’t mistaken. She’d started it an hour ago and was already three-quarters of the way through.

Severus lazily turned the page, nearing the end of another chapter, when he heard a rapping at the door to their bedroom. Before either of them could respond, the door opened about a foot and Remus Lupin stuck his head in.

“Floo for you, Hermione,” Remus said, as casually as if he’d just bumped into her in the hallway. “It’s Ron. Apparently James has got something lodged... somewhere.”

Hermione looked up from her reading, and Severus noted a distinct lack of alarm in her expression.

“What lodged where?”

Remus shrugged. “He didn’t say. He seemed to think it fairly critical that it be removed soon, though.”

Hermione laid her book on her lap. “What does he expect me to say? How many ways are there to dislodge a thing from an orifice?”

“If I had to guess, I think he just needs to be reassured that he won’t take James’s head off or something when he tries.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose I should go hold his hand through it.”

Finally, Severus snapped.

“Are you daft!?” he cried. “Do you have no concept of personal space? How dare you just barge in here? How did you know we weren’t in the middle of...” He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to answer that question, Severus?”

Severus glared at him. He was well aware of the werewolf’s heightened senses. It always unnerved him to see just how perceptive Remus really was.

“No,” Severus grumbled.

Hermione kissed him. “I’ll be right back, Severus, and I’ll bring some coffee with me.”

She got out of bed, threw her dressing gown on over her pajamas, and headed for the door. Remus opened it wider to let her pass, then stood looking at Snape, clearly trying not to snigger.

“What?”

“Really, Severus? A nightshirt? It’s the twenty-first century, you know. You might at least get out of the nineteenth.”

Severus pulled the blanket up to his chest to hide his frumpy grey nightshirt from Remus’s view and scowled at him. “Not all of us feel the need to parade around half-naked, wolf.”

Remus, who was wearing pajama bottoms and a dressing gown that hung open to reveal a heavily-scarred but well-toned chest, merely rolled his eyes and closed the door.

After he’d gone, Severus settled back into the pillows with his book, promising himself to make sure Hermione locked the door when she came to bed at night from now on.


	18. Erised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape uncovers his heart's desire.

September 21, 2004

 

Severus cast the final protection spells over the room and turned to leave. He was already reaching for the door handle when the mystical object in the center of the room seemed to make one last desperate call to him.

Only his head turned back to glance at the drapery that seemed to hang suspended in the air. His curiosity got the better of him. Though he knew it was a mistake, he walked back toward the object and slowly reached up to take hold of the protective cloth.

Protective, that is, not to what lay beneath, but to himself and any others who may happen upon this most alluring of temptations. How many hours had he spent staring into its glassy depths before Albus had caught him at it and decided to move it to a safer location? How many days—how many years—could he have stood there, gazing into the brilliant green eyes of the woman he loved while she gazed back at him adoringly?

But the eyes of she who held his heart were no longer green, but warmest brown. Surely he had moved past his childhood love, had let her go when her own incorporeal form had given him permission. He was positive that he would not now see Lily if he looked into the mirror.

Then why did he hesitate? Why was he even here? He was not weak like the Ministry employees whose constant indiscretions had necessitated the mirror’s move to a safer location. Not anymore, at least. He no longer allowed himself to pine away for a woman who would not forgive him when he needed it most. He was happily married, with four beautiful children. He was successful in his career and finally had the respect and recognition he had sought for so long. He didn’t even have any enemies he wished dead, as they were all gone or imprisoned. He had never been so content. He’d never believed he could be.

Then what stayed his hand from pulling off the cover, and what stayed his feet from retreat? The answer to the first came to him with a jolt. It was fear. Fear that he had not really got over Lily, that he was only lying to himself that his life was happy. He’d got so good at lying over the years, it was possible he was now doing it without even knowing. If he was confronted with her face now, shining back at him from this mirror of utter truth, it would crush him and render everything he’d gained meaningless.

He’d never been a coward, and he hated the thought of being one now.

On the heels of that realization came a second, the reason that kept him from simply leaving the room: he was curious. If he truly had everything he could want from life, what was his heart’s desire? He felt content, but he would not consider himself the most content man on Earth, who would simply see himself exactly as he was. There was something burning inside him; he could feel it. He did have a desire in his heart, but he couldn’t articulate what it was. That was why he was still here.

He pulled the cloth down and looked into the Mirror of Erised for the first time in thirteen years. There was a woman looking back at him.

A wave of relief washed through him. It was not Lily. No, it was his own brilliant, beautiful wife, his Hermione, gazing at him with those sharp chocolate eyes. The next thing he felt was confusion. He _had_ Hermione. Why was she in the mirror? Wasn’t it meant to show something you wanted but didn’t have? As his eyes moved down from her face, he gasped.

She was pregnant. Her belly was large with child. With _his_ child. Suddenly, something snapped into place, and it all made sense. Severus loved his children more than life itself, and would eagerly die for any one of them. But there was once a time when they were nothing but yet another bane of his miserable existence. He hadn’t wanted any of them. They had been forced on him, and on Hermione, by his two masters. Their conceptions had been rushed, awkward, and nearly rape. Their gestations had been burdens, full of stress and hardship. He had, at the time, utterly resented, even hated, his children, and what they represented. It wasn’t until he held the first of them in his hands that the crushing, all-consuming joy had come.

He wanted to do it again, and do it right. Before, he had been robbed of the pleasure of anticipation. He wanted to see Hermione’s belly swell as their child grew inside her, wanted to follow each new step of the pregnancy with expectation and enthusiasm, wanted to prepare for the baby’s arrival and welcome it to the world with all the love and festivities it deserved.

He didn’t just want a child. He wanted to _want_ a child.

With a last, hopeful look at the woman in the mirror, Severus replaced the cloth and left the room, casting the final charms on the outside of the closed door. As he walked down the long-abandoned corridor, a smile spread across his face. Tonight, he and Hermione would have a chat.


	19. Namesake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Snape reminisce about Dumbledore.

June 17, 2005

 

“Severus, I’ve been thinking.”

“Is that meant to shock me?”

Hermione smiled at her husband. He wasn’t looking at her, but a smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he read the book in his lap.

“I’ve been thinking about Dumbledore,” she clarified.

That got his attention.

“He used us.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but closed his book and set it aside. He was looking at her with a blank expression, and Hermione knew he was waiting to speak until he had some idea where she was going with this train of thought. She hurried on nervously.

“He used us terribly, and we both had every right to be furious at him for what he put us through. Without him, this wouldn’t have happened.” She gestured between the two of them with her hand.

Severus’s brow furrowed. “That’s certainly true,” he said evenly.

She knew him well enough by now to guess what he was thinking. He was wondering whether she still resented being married to him. “Don’t misunderstand me, Severus. For those first months, I would have given nearly anything to not be married to you.”

“The feeling was entirely mutual,” he said, his voice still betraying nothing.

“But now... now I wouldn’t _take_ anything to _stop_ being married to you.”

The tension in his brow eased. “That feeling is also entirely mutual.”

“So, you see,” she stated with the finality of coming to an obvious conclusion. “In the end, Dumbledore did us a bigger favor than anyone else ever has.”

In a flash, Severus’s mood shifted. He leapt up and began to pace. “The man was a menace, Hermione! Manipulative, egotistical, self-righteous! He used guilt to control me for two decades!”

“He was also the only one to trust you when no one else did,” she responded, her own voice rising. “Think about it, Severus. If it weren’t for him, you’d be rotting away in Azkaban even now, if not dead. Yes, he had his faults, but that doesn’t change the fact that your life is better for him having been in it.”

Severus stopped pacing and looked at her as if about to argue, but nothing came. Finally, he sat back down. “Perhaps,” he said reluctantly. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

Hermione bit her lip nervously, a hand unconsciously moving to rest on her growing belly. His eyes shot to her hand, then back to her face. One of his eyebrows moved toward his hairline. She knew he knew what she was about to say.

“I think, if it’s a boy, we should name the baby Albus.”

Severus looked at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into her, then finally, his gaze fell to his lap and he let out a long, defeated sigh.

“There’ll be no living with his portrait after this.”


	20. Just a Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's daughter surprises and worries him.

August 15, 2005

 

“Eileen, look at me.” Severus scowled down at his youngest daughter.

Two pairs of black eyes met as she looked up at him with a perfectly neutral expression, undaunted.

“Did you put the Polyjuice Potion in Teddy’s pumpkin juice?”

“Why would I do that, Dad?” she asked, her tone smooth and calm.

“To see what would happen, I would guess.”

“You have to admit, one rarely gets the opportunity to test a morphing potion on someone who can already morph naturally.”

She raised a lazy eyebrow as if challenging him to say that wouldn’t be interesting, but Severus held her gaze. Other people, even adults, would have flinched. She was a strange child, even he knew that, though unlike most others, he knew the reason why. She didn’t speak much, but when she did she sounded like a little adult. Other kids called her a weirdo; grown-ups mostly called her creepy.

But Severus had to admit to a certain amount of pride at having a seven-year-old who could brew such a complex potion. “I suppose it was you, then, who broke into my potions cupboard and stole the gillyweed?” Fighting a smirk, Snape thought that he’d finally found some evidence of Hermione in the girl.

“Of course not, Dad,” Eileen said placidly.

Severus’s temper flared. “Don’t lie to me!” he hissed. Deciding he’d had enough mucking about, he intensified his stare, his eyes boring into hers like two pairs of black holes meeting across space. She couldn’t keep lying to him once she knew he’d seen it.

With a gasp, he blinked and nearly staggered back in shock. Eileen looked back at him, expressionless. “Eileen,” he said in a hoarse voice, “how did you do that?”

She shrugged, not pretending to not know what he was talking about. “You tell me, Dad. I learned it from your memories.”

More terrified than he’d been in years, Severus Snape, widely acknowledged as the most powerful Legilimens in Britain, looked in horror at the small child who’d just Occluded him and resolved to watch her much more closely in future. She was already showing an unhealthy interest in Dark magic, and he’d be damned if he let his own daughter make the same mistakes he did. The last thing the world needed was another Dark Lord—or a Dark Lady.


	21. The Seventh Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest Snape child is born.

November 13, 2005

 

“Okay, Hermione, you’re doing great. Now, push.”

“She _is_ pushing, you dunderhead!”

The Healer’s eyes flicked to Severus for an instant. “Keep pushing, Hermione.”

Hermione let out a yowl as another contraction hit and she squeezed Severus’s hand so hard she heard the knuckles cracking.

“Partridge...” Severus growled.

“Give her a pain killer,” Partridge told his assistant.

The mediwitch took a bottle from a nearby cabinet and moved to Hermione, but Severus snatched the bottle from her hand and sniffed it. The mediwitch waited patiently until he handed it back to her, still scowling.

The bottle was pushed between Hermione’s lips and she gulped the sour potion, then grabbed the mediwitch’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Antoinette!” she gasped, looking wildly into the other woman’s calm eyes.

Antoinette chuckled and extracted her hand from Hermione’s grasp. “Believe me, Hermione, it’s worth it on the other side. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have had one of my own.”

Hermione nodded, huffing, trying to picture her child’s precious, beautiful face, rather than seeing it as an angry goblin trying to crawl through her vagina, as she was much more predisposed to do at the moment.

The potion worked quickly, and the pain grew more bearable. It was only another few minutes before the pressure released and Partridge withdrew a bloody, squirming creature from her womb.

“He’s out!” cried Partridge, beaming. “Excellent work, Mrs. Snape.”

Hermione reached out to the child in Partridge’s arms, desperate to hold him, to see him.

Partridge handed him to Antoinette, who cleaned him and wrapped him in a blanket before handing him to Hermione, saying, “He’s beautiful.”

After all those long months, finally holding him, she couldn’t disagree. He was perfect.

Severus stood watching them from his place by Hermione’s shoulder, a look of wonder softening his stern features.

Partridge cleared his throat. “Actually, there’s a new spell—completely non-invasive and safe, of course—which can help detect any... problems which may not be immediately apparent. Hidden health issues and so forth.”

“Well, do it, then!” Severus ordered, his black eyes suddenly filled with worry at the notion that something could be wrong.

Partridge moved forward and waved his wand over the baby and frowned.

Hermione grabbed Severus's robe, panicked but not wanting to speak since she hadn't named the baby yet.

“Speak, Partridge!” Severus snapped. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Er, I’m sorry, but... he’s a Squib.”

Hermione looked into the shining blue eyes of her son and hardly heard her husband let out a sigh of relief.

“Is that all?” asked Severus.

Stepping back awkwardly to give them space, Partridge stammered, “Y-yes. Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I bloody well heard you,” Snape barked, “and what of it? Do you expect us to toss him back now?”

Partridge cleared his throat. “No. No, of course. But—”

“He’s got a point, Severus,” Hermione said, looking up at him. If her child was a Squib, it didn't matter what she said. His name would be recorded the old-fashioned way. Severus laid a hand on the baby’s head, transfixed by his son’s eyes, and she continued her thought. “It won’t be easy for him. He won’t be able to go to Hogwarts. He’ll be... different.”

Severus snorted. “Of course he’s different.”

Hermione laughed, looking again at her son, brushing his petal-soft cheek with her finger. “No, I mean really different. He won’t ever truly belong anywhere. Muggles won’t understand him and wizards will look down on him.”

“He’ll belong at Hogwarts,” Severus said. “He’ll belong with us. With all of us. No matter what he can or can’t do. And no one’s going to say otherwise.”

Hermione nodded, his words putting a thought in her head that made the corners of her mouth rise higher and higher.

“What is his name?” Partridge asked as Antoinette dug a parchment form out of a drawer.

“Albus,” she said, giving the name she and Severus had decided on. They hadn’t thought of a middle name, but now it came to her, and she continued, “Phineas... Armando... Everard... Snape.”

“A-all of that?” Partridge looked at her like she’d gone slightly mad, but Severus actually laughed.

“Four Hogwarts headmasters,” he noted, his tone colored with approval. “One from each house. Some of the most powerful wizards in recent history. Let them challenge his claim to the wizarding world now.”

Severus’s fingers entwined with hers over the baby’s head.

“Hello, Albus,” she whispered. “Welcome to the world. I think you’ll like it here.”


	22. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers something troubling about her daughter Luna.

August 4, 2006

 

“Thanks for helping me watch the kids, Molly,” Hermione said, hefting a chubby, squirming baby Albus onto her hip. “Things have been absolutely mad lately.”

Molly chuckled as she bounced Cassi on her knee, “With a house full of little ones, it’s never _not_ mad.”

“Truer words,” Hermione said absently before telling James to stop trying to put licorice wands into Sara’s ears.

“If I may ask,” began Molly, clearly not meaning to stop asking in any case, “how did you get stuck here alone with this lot?”

Hermione let out an exasperated breath and started down the list. “Tonks and Ron had to work a double shifts because of that case with the necromancer in York, Remus is off on that trip to France with Bill and Fleur to meet with the werewolves of Paris, and my dear husband slipped away before dawn this morning without telling me what he was up to.”

“No hair pulling!” Molly called across the room, separating Harry and Cedric with a flick of her wand. “You mustn’t let him do that, dear,” she told Hermione. “He can’t expect to just sneak off to Merlin-knows-where and leave all the work to you.”

“It’s kind of hard to stop him,” Hermione replied. “He was a spy for nearly two decades. He’s pretty good at sneaking. Besides, I’m sure it was probably something important.”

“More important than his family?” Molly asked, her tone clearly disapproving.

“Oh, no. No, he loves us, and I know he’d do anything for the kids. He just... doesn’t do well with nappies.”

Molly scoffed and pulled a face for Cassi. “The great Severus Snape, who faced Voldemort in single combat, is afraid of a little baby poo.”

Hermione grinned despite herself. She spotted Teddy amusing Cedric and Harry by making multicolored fur grow on his hands and face, and laughed outright. Then she felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down to see Eileen gazing up at her with her typical unreadable expression.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Luna’s acting funny,” said Eileen.

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat, her mind instantly conjuring all the worst possible scenarios. “Where is she?”

She followed Eileen into the library, where Luna was sitting with a stack of books, all of them ignored. The girl was shaking violently, her eyes rolling back into her head. Hermione nearly threw Albus at Eileen, who took him wordlessly, and ran toward her brown-haired daughter.

“Luna! Luna, what’s wrong?” Hermione cried, grabbing her daughter to try to keep her from shaking, or at least from hurting herself.

Suddenly, Luna’s shaking quieted to small tremors, though her eyes still showed mostly white. Hermione held her close, trying to figure out what was wrong, when Luna began speaking in a very strange tone, one that Hermione had heard only once before, from someone entirely different.

“ _He is coming_.”

Hermione pushed her daughter to arm’s length away and held her, looking at her intently. With a chill, she recognized what she saw. _No. No, not again_ , she thought _. Not this._

“What? Luna, what are you saying? Who’s coming?”

Luna didn’t answer, but continued speaking in the same odd tone.

“ _The wind will blow from the other side and the Grim will return to his old place.... He will cry out to the snake and the wolf, but the snake will strike him and the wolf will tear him, and he will know them no more.... Then he will take their blood for his pleasure and build his house on their flesh and bones._ ”

Hermione’s skin was crawling by the time she’d finished, to hear such words come from her little girl’s sweet mouth. She knew that Luna would never invent such things on her own.

Then, like a switch, Luna looked in her eyes and she was back. “Oh, hi, mummy,” she said in her soft voice. “Where’d you come from?”

She smiled and Hermione pulled her close again, burying her face in Luna’s hair to hide her tears of relief and worry. “I’ve always been here,” she said into the girl’s thick curls, “and I always will be.”

When she walked back into the parlor with the others, Molly looked at her anxiously. “Is everything all right? What’s the matter?”

Hermione set Luna on the floor near her brothers and Teddy and went to Molly. Her voice strained, she told the older woman, “I think Luna’s a Seer.”


	23. Snape's Left Boot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's summers at Grimmauld Place were not without their irritations.

August 15, 2006

 

Severus Snape was a frugal man, never one to buy more than was absolutely necessary (with the exception of books). It was why he always appeared to be wearing the same clothes, why he only got his hair trimmed twice a year, and why his living space had always been so sparsely furnished.

Nevertheless, on rare occasions, Severus thought about buying a second pair of boots. This was one of those times.

“Bollocks,” he muttered, looking at the empty space under the bed. When he stood up, he shouted, “Hermione! Have you seen my left boot?”

When he was met only with silence, he realized that Hermione must already have left. He stomped down the stairs and into the drawing room, his right boot making his gait annoyingly uneven. He didn’t see anything immediately, so he pulled out his wand.

“ _Accio_ my boot!”

He fell to the floor with an undignified crash when his right foot jerked up toward his wand hand, throwing him off his feet.

Growling furiously but grateful no one had just seen that, he got up and tried again.

“ _Accio_ my _left_ boot!”

Something flew at him from behind one of the sofas so quickly that he barely caught it before it struck him. When he looked at it, at first he thought something went wrong with his spell. Then he looked more closely and could barely contain the fury that boiled up in him.

He stormed through the hallway and burst into the kitchen.

“This is the last straw, Lupin,” Severus told the startled-looking man sitting at the table.

Remus looked at him oddly, his spoon half-way from his bowl to his mouth. “Is there a problem, Severus?”

Severus slammed the object in his hand onto the table, and Remus stared at it for a long moment. On first sight, it appeared to be merely a damp, tattered jumble of leather. Only on closer inspection did it become the remains of Snape’s left boot.

Remus stifled a chuckle. “Why would you think I have anything to do with your being unable to keep your footwear maintained?”

Severus picked the boot up, turned it over, and thrust it under Remus’s nose. There was a very clear set of teeth marks on what was left of the sole. Severus expected Remus to make an excuse or perhaps even apologize. Instead, Remus frowned.

“Cassi,” Remus said sternly, looking at the sandy-haired little girl sitting across from him at the table. “What have I told you about shoes? There’s a reason Mrs. Granger bought you those chew toys, and it’s not just to keep your teeth clean.”

Cassi peered at him with wide, golden-brown eyes. “Sorry. It just... smelled so good.”

Severus thought the fact that she apparently found him delicious was deeply disconcerting.

Remus shook his head. “I’ll buy you a new pair, Severus.”

“Of course you will,” Severus stated. “In the mean time, I have a meeting today and I will not go to it barefoot.”

“You don’t have another pair?” Remus asked, surprised. When Severus only continued to glare, Remus said, “I’ve got an extra pair you can use. Enlarge them if you have to. Don’t look at me like that, Severus. It won’t kill you to wear brown shoes for one day.”

Severus sniffed indignantly, but he had left himself with few options.

“And you, young lady,” Remus said, turning again to the little girl, who had begun to look entirely too hopeful, “will pay me back out of your pocket money.”

“But that’ll take years!” she protested.

“Then perhaps you’ll learn a greater respect for other people’s things.”

Severus snorted, knowing how unlikely that was.

“Fine,” she said, then suddenly her face lit in a smile. “If I’m paying for them anyway, can I have the other one?”

Remus sighed, and Severus just stared. Then he dropped the destroyed boot on the table and left the kitchen, muttering incredulously under his breath.

“Werewolves.”


	24. Daddy's Little Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is guilt-tripping again, but this time it's his daughter who gets caught up in it.

November 19, 2010

 

“What are you doing?”

Remus looked up to find his youngest daughter glaring at him from the doorway of his bedroom. He let out a small sigh but continued packing.

“You know what I’m doing, sprite. I have to meet Bill in half an hour at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“You’re going away again,” she accused.

“Only for a little while,” he replied, folding his second best robe as neatly as he could before laying it in the trunk.

“You always say a little while and it’s always too long!” She stepped into the room and stood a few feet away from him with her arms folded.

He chuckled to himself. Sometimes she really was so much like her mother. “It only seems long because you’re young.”

“I’m not that young,” she muttered.

“I’ll back before you have time to miss me,” he promised.

“Doubt it,” she muttered again.

“Could you hand me those boots?” he said, pointing to the pair near her feet. She picked them up and tossed them at him harder than was necessary. He caught them easily and tried to ignore her scathing glare.

“Why do you have to go?” she demanded.

“You know that as well, Cassi,” he said, frowning at her. “It’s my job. The other werewolves look up to me. I have to go where and when I’m needed.”

“You’re needed here,” she shot back.

He grimaced. “No, I’m not.”

“But everyone else is gone! Teddy and Sara and all the others are at school, and Mum’s always working.”

“She’ll be back tonight,” he told her. “And Grandma will be over in a few minutes to keep you company until then.”

“You go away too much,” she told him flatly.

“I have to, sweetheart. There are things that need to be taken care of.”

“Then take me with you. I can help.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. This business, it’s... it’s nothing a child should have to deal with.” His stomach wrenched at the truth of it.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. “And why do you have to go _now_?”

“There was an attack in Wales,” he explained, turning back to the trunk and continuing to pack. He couldn’t hide from himself the fact that he did so to avoid meeting her eyes. “Three schoolboys. The one who did it must be caught and interviewed to find out if it was intentional or not... and someone needs to explain to the boys and their parents how to deal with what’s happened to them.”

“But that’s a good reason why I _should_ go!” Cassi insisted. “They can meet me and see that it’s not that bad.”

“But it _is_ that bad, Cassi,” he said, straightening the socks in his trunk. “Their lives are changed forever. They’ll never be normal again.”

Cassi was quiet for so long that Remus thought she might have left.

“What’s so great about being normal?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking. Remus looked up at her, startled, to see tears in her eyes.

“Cassi—” He reached out to her, but she turned and fled down the hall. “Cassi, wait!” He followed her, finally catching up with her in the drawing room.

She was curled up in the large wingback chair, her head tucked into her arms, her legs curled tight to her body. Her back shook with her ragged breathing. His heart broke.

“Cassi,” he said, moving carefully toward her. She was so small. So strong, yet so fragile. She didn’t shrink away when he put his hand on her shoulder, so he knelt down beside her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish—”

She raised her head to look at him, her face wet with tears. “That I was _normal_ ,” she spat, cutting him off.

He flinched. “Yes.”

Finally, she jerked her shoulder away from him. Remus knew he deserved every harsh word she could throw at him, though each one was like an arrow in his heart. “Sorry to be such a disappointment,” she hissed, her tone full of venom. Her eyes were red, but she'd stopped crying. “Just keep going away then, and next year I’ll be gone and you won’t have to deal with your _werewolf_ kid anymore.”

Remus’s jaw dropped. “Disappointment? What are you talking about?”

“You’re doing this because of me,” she accused. “That’s why you go away all the time. You don’t want to be around me. You’re ashamed of me.”

Then her words made sense, and Remus wondered how it was possible to hate himself even more. Somehow, he managed it. “You’re right,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. Her mouth tightened, and he added quickly, “and you’re so very wrong.”

The anger that contorted her face was replaced by uncertainty as she looked at him, waiting for him to explain.

“I _am_ doing this because of you, but I am _not_ ashamed of you.” Her eyes were so full of confusion... he couldn’t bear to look at them. “I’m ashamed of _myself_ ,” he said to her toes.

She didn’t respond to that, but he felt her gaze still on him. He took a steadying breath and looked again into her golden-brown eyes.

“Everything I’m doing, I do it for you. For your future. To try to give you the childhood—the life—that I didn’t have. I look at you, at your exuberance, your beautiful, wonderful spirit... you have hope, Cassi. Hope I never had. Hope that you might live a normal life. And it gives me hope that if I work hard enough and long enough, somehow... I might begin to make up for what I’ve done to you.”

The confusion had now completely replaced the anger in her eyes. “What you’ve done to me?” she asked, her voice wavering and uncertain.

“Passing on my condition,” he explained calmly, sure that her anger would return at any moment, once she understood what he meant. “It was unforgivably selfish of me.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” she said, still trying to figure him out.

“No, of course not! At least you were spared the trauma of a bite. Not that it really matters. You’re still a werewolf, as surely as if I’d bitten you. I guessed—I feared—that it might be passed on genetically. When your brother and sister were both born without any trace of lycanthropy, I... I was overconfident. I’d been so afraid that Teddy would be like me that when he wasn’t, I let myself hope that it couldn’t be passed on. So I tempted fate. I kept gambling that it wouldn’t happen, and now you’re the one paying for that mistake.”

His daughter stared at him for a long moment and her face slowly contorted to its previous expression as his words sank in.

“You...” She fought to get the words out. “You wish I’d never been _born_?”

He wondered if he could bollocks this up any more.

He pried one of her hands away from her leg and grasped it in both of his. “Of course not, Cassi. You’re an exceptional, beautiful girl and I would never dream of depriving the world of you. I just... wish you had a different father.”

She yanked her hand away and the tears started flowing again. She tightened further into a ball. “If I’m so great,” she choked out, “why can’t you love me?”

Again, he was astounded at how abysmally he was communicating his point, if that’s what she’d taken from what he’d said. He needed to be completely plain so that there could be no mistaking where the blame lay. He moved in front of her and took both her hands in his so that she would look him in the eyes.

“Cassiopeia Andromeda Lupin, I have loved you from the moment I found out your mother was pregnant with you. You are a remarkable, intelligent, funny, spirited girl and I am amazed every day that you could possibly be my daughter. I love you so much it hurts and I will love you until my heart stops beating.”

She blinked back her tears and he hoped that she finally understood him.

“I love you, too, Daddy,” she whispered.

He cringed at what he was about to say. But it needed to be said. It was the truth.

“You shouldn’t. You’re a monster, Cassi, and you should hate me for making you a monster.”

She looked at him as if he’d struck her. “I _do_ love you, and I love that I’m like you. I like that I have your eyes, and your hair, and I _like_ that I’m a werewolf. It’s just part of who I am. Like being a witch.”

Remus shook his head sadly. “You only say that because you don’t truly know what it’s like. We’ve sheltered you, kept you away from prying eyes. But when you go out into the world, Cassi, when people know what you are... Other wizards are afraid of us, as they should be, and that fear leads to hate. You won’t fit in. You won’t be accepted.”

She stuck her chin out. “I don’t care what people think.”

He smiled fondly. “No, I suppose you don’t. You are your mother’s daughter.” He got serious again. She had to know what she was. “But it’s not just that. People’s reactions are secondary. I just thank God that Severus has been around to make the Wolfsbane Potion for us. You’ve never had to feel that loss of control. Never seen me... I’ve done bad things as a wolf, Cassi. Very bad things.”

Cassi shook her head. “You could never do anything bad, Daddy.”

Remus looked into her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed her to understand.

“I’m not myself without the potion. I do things I’d never... I’m not safe. I’ve tried to kill so many people.... Once, I succeeded.” He stared at her intently, reading her eyes. She didn’t understand. “I’ve killed someone, Cassi. I... I killed a friend.”

Her face was blank for a long moment as she processed his words, then her eyes grew wide and she shook her head vigorously. “No! No, you wouldn’t!”

“ _I_ wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But the wolf would. If not for the Wolfsbane, the moon would make me a killer, unable to distinguish friend from prey. And it would do the same to you. No one would be safe around us. Your mum, your brother and sister—we wouldn’t know who they were. We’d only see prey.”

She was still shaking her head, violently now. He’d gone too far. He’d terrified her. He shouldn’t have brought the rest of the family into it. But she needed to know. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she shook. Tears burned his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Cassi. I’d do anything to take it away, but I can’t. I’m so sorry.... You’re cursed because of me.”

Her shaking stopped and she raised her head. He was startled by the defiance in her eyes.

“It’s not a curse,” she stated.

“Cassi...”

“You said if we didn’t have the potion. But we _do_ have the potion. And there are good things, fun things. I’ll show you.”

“What good is there in being a monster?” His voice sounded hollow in his ears.

She looked at him for a long time, then said very quietly, “If I wasn’t a monster, I wouldn’t be me.”

He gaped at her, unable to think of any response.

She smiled. “I’ll show you,” she repeated. Then, brightened by whatever plans that thought had spurred in her mind, she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, Daddy. You’ll see.”


	25. Going Through the Motions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape and Lupin argue to McGonagall about whether or not she should allow another werewolf to attend Hogwarts.

April 9, 2011

 

“I can never tell with you, Severus,” McGonagall commented as one eyebrow arched above the frame of her glasses. “Are you joking?”

“Assuredly not, Headmistress,” Snape replied, his tone affirming his statement. “My opinion on this matter has not changed in thirty-four years.”

“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Lupin from his chair next to Snape’s. “After all these years, I thought we’d got past this, Severus. And yet you still hold such a grudge against me that you would try to deny—”

“This has nothing to do with a grudge, Lupin,” Snape said coolly. “It is a simple fact that allowing a werewolf to live at Hogwarts poses an unnecessary danger to students. And to staff.”

Lupin bristled, torn between wanting to box Snape for his implied accusation and his own self-loathing at the truth of it.

“Severus!” McGonagall snapped. “I am certain Remus has no need for you to remind him of that incident.”

“What incident?” Snape asked, feigning ignorance. “I merely point out that history has shown werewolves to be a danger. I have witnessed it firsthand enough times to know as much. And so have you, come to that.”

“Why don’t you speak plainly, Severus?” Lupin barked. “You don’t mean werewolves. You mean me.”

“Do you deny it?”

“You know I can’t. But Cassi is not me.”

“No. She’s worse.” Lupin was too stunned to do anything but gape, so Snape continued. “While you freely admit to being dangerous, Cassiopeia has no concept of her own power or the harm she could cause to others if she is not careful. And when the recklessness and arrogance from her Black side is taken into account, it should be obvious that the girl is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“But you know better!” Lupin protested. “You know she’s not a threat! She’s never even come close to harming anyone!”

“And that is thanks to whom?”

Lupin was staggered. “You can’t—you can’t mean you’ll stop making the Wolfsbane. Or... is that your condition? You’ll only make it as long as we stay away from Hogwarts?”

Snape merely shrugged.

“I must admit, Severus,” said McGonagall, folding her hands on top of her desk, “I cannot understand your reluctance. Especially considering that you share a home with Remus and his family—”

“Three months out of the year,” Snape interrupted. “During which I am able to keep a close eye on both Lupin and his whelp.”

“That _whelp_ ,” Lupin spat, “trusts you implicitly. And I don’t just mean with the potion. She calls you Uncle, for God’s sake! How can you be so cold to her?”

“It is not that I do not care about the child,” Snape said, “but she is not my first priority. Hogwarts is considerably larger than Grimmauld Place, and I have responsibilities here which do not distract me while at home. I cannot keep a twenty-four-hour watch on even one of my children, let alone all five. But the least I can do is ensure that even more dangers are not brought to them. And I believe the parents of the other two-hundred-and-seventy-eight students would agree.”

“She won’t be a danger!” Lupin insisted, leaping to his feet. He was nearly shouting now.

The next moment, Snape was on his feet, as well. “How can you be sure of that?” Snape asked with equal vigor.

Lupin leaned in until his face was less than a foot from Snape’s, golden-brown eyes boring into black ones, and his voice dropped to a dangerous near-whisper.

“Because you’ll make sure of it.”

Snape sneered, but Lupin didn’t relent.

“You will keep making the Wolfsbane Potion, Severus. But you won’t do it because I say so. You’ll do it because it’s the right thing, because you know there is a little girl who trusts you, and yes, even loves you, who thinks your skill and commitment are as sure a thing as the moonrise itself. Because you know _you_ are what stands between the life I’ve had and the life she _could_ have. And because you’ve known me long enough to appreciate what that means.”

Snape was silent for several long seconds as they continued to stare unblinkingly at each other. Finally, he slid back into his chair.

“Very well.”

Lupin smiled.

“But I still believe she should not be allowed to come to Hogwarts.”

“What?!”

Snape didn’t get up, but he gave Lupin a hard look. “You cannot know that she will never forget to take the potion.”

“She’ll forget to do something that’s been a regular part of her life since she was born?” Lupin asked. “She’d sooner forget to eat.”

“Such things have been known to occur, particularly with teenagers,” Snape observed.

“She knows the consequences, Severus. I have made the stakes clear to her.”

“Have you? Does she really, fully understand what she is capable of?”

Lupin paused, considering. “How many of us truly know what we’re capable of until it happens?”

There was a lull then, in which McGonagall looked appraisingly between the two men.

“Does Hermione share your feelings on the matter, Severus?”

Nearly imperceptibly, Snape shifted in his seat. Lupin fought the urge to smirk.

“I do not need my wife’s permission in order to express an opinion, Minerva, nor should the deputy headmaster be required to consult a teacher.”

“Perhaps not,” McGonagall said, “but the headmistress may be allowed to consult a teacher if she wishes.” She summoned a house-elf and sent him to fetch Professor Hermione.

When Hermione entered only a few minutes later, she looked with a furrowed brow from Snape to Lupin, then approached McGonagall’s desk.

“Headmistress?”

“Thank you for coming, Hermione. There is a bit of an issue that I wondered if you might offer your opinion on.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“There appears to be some question as to whether Cassiopeia Lupin should be allowed to attend Hogwarts.”

Hermione was silent for a long moment. Then she laughed. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” McGonagall explained. “Severus seems to think it would place the students in unwarranted danger.”

Hermione slowly turned her head to look at her husband. “He _what_?” she asked. Her voice had suddenly taken on a decidedly threatening note.

“Hermione, you’ve seen what can happen.” There was an edge of entreaty in Snape’s voice. “You know it just as well as I. Can you really say that our children—that _any_ children—would be safe at a school that housed a werewolf?”

“Severus Tobias Snape, how _could_ you?” she nearly shrieked. “Cassi is like family, and you’re acting as if she’s some sort of—of Dark creature!”

Snape appeared unfazed by his wife’s righteous fury. “Werewolves _are_ classified as—”

“ _Ooh!_ ” she exclaimed, past the point of being able to express her anger in words. Then she stopped and took a deep breath.

“I take it, then, that you are not of the same opinion?” asked McGonagall calmly.

“No, Headmistress,” Hermione said, facing her, forcing herself to remain calm. “I most certainly am not. Cassi is a good girl with a bright future, and denying her an education would be nothing short of an injustice of the highest degree.”

Lupin allowed himself a smile. “Thank you, Hermione.”

“Yes, thank you, Hermione,” said Snape, glaring at her from under his eyebrows as if _thank you_ was the last thing he could mean.

“Your council is duly noted,” said McGonagall. She took a moment to look between the three of them. “However, Severus does have a point.”

Lupin’s jaw dropped and Snape smirked victoriously. They looked at each other and both expressions turned to glares.

“I don’t understand,” said Hermione. “She’s safe as long as she takes the potion. And she _will_ continue to take the potion.” She looked pointedly at Snape, who nodded.

“That may well be,” said McGonagall, “but even a safe werewolf can have an accident if not supervised. However, that is not the point to which I was referring. Most of the parents who put their children under our care would not be any more comfortable with knowing there was a werewolf in the school than those whose children attended with Remus, or those whose children he taught. It may not be right, but it is the case, and I cannot simply ignore the wishes of so many parents.”

“Then don’t tell them,” Hermione stated as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Teddy and Sara already attend. They’ve got no reason to think Cassi’s a werewolf. Just keep it secret like you did with Remus and no one can protest. And if they don’t speak against it, then you wouldn’t be going against their wishes by allowing it.”

McGonagall sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, obviously uncomfortable with such an arguably underhanded tactic.

“I must say, my dear,” said Snape, leveling a contemplative look at Hermione, “that is remarkably Slytherin thinking.”

“Well, it’s not my idea,” she said with a shrug. “It’s Dumbledore’s. And he was practically half-Slytherin, so it should hardly be surprising.”

“Please, Minerva,” Lupin implored. “You know that if the general population had their way about everything, I’d have been locked up or put down the moment I was bitten, and Cassi wouldn’t even exist.”

“Have you so little faith in your fellow wizards?” Snape asked him, a hint of a sneer in his voice.

“You’re one to talk about faith in people,” Lupin snapped at him.

“That is quite enough!” McGonagall commanded before this latest round of their argument could escalate. When she had their attention, she paused to consider, then said with finality, “Cassiopeia will be allowed to attend.” Snape opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand, silencing him. “Severus, you will brew the Wolfsbane Potion for her, and Hermione, you will take it to her and ensure that she drinks it exactly when she needs to. Remus, you will ensure that the Shrieking Shack is made ready for her arrival in September. She may be safe, but she can hardly be expected to transform in her dormitory. Then every month, Hermione will escort her through the passageway under the Whomping Willow and back until she is old enough to make the trip on her own.” She gave Snape a hard look. “And Severus, you will not _let slip_ the nature of her condition. Am I understood?”

Her tone allowed no room for argument, so Snape nodded, as did Lupin and Hermione.

“That sounds very reasonable, Headmistress,” said Hermione.

Lupin stood and stepped toward McGonagall’s desk. “Thank you, Minerva. You won’t regret it.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she replied.

Snape muttered something under his breath about _Gryffindor favoritism_ , and Lupin turned on him.

“If it is, then we’ve still got a long way to go to make up for the preference you’ve lavished on your Slytherins over the years, Severus.”

Snape jumped up, ready to launch into another row. “My Slytherins—”

“If that’s all, Headmistress,” Hermione said loudly, interrupting him.

McGonagall smiled and inclined her head. “Yes, Professor Hermione. Thank you.”

“Good afternoon, then.” Hermione gave her a polite nod and turned to leave, walking between Snape and Lupin as she went. Before she reached the door, she spun back to face them, her irritation getting the better of her. “And you two, stop acting as if you’re not the best friend each other’s got. Honestly!”

With that, she left, leaving Snape and Lupin standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the Headmistress’s office, not sure whether to keep fighting or just give up and walk away.

Finally, Lupin relaxed. “I understand Harry is showing quite a lot of promise as a beater.”

“Yes, he is,” Snape said casually. “Though he would improve more quickly if Teddy were not constantly distracting him from his practice.”

Lupin laughed and headed for the door. “Yes, Teddy’s good at that. Sometimes I wonder how he manages to finish anything. I suppose that’s thanks to James. At least one of them has a rational head on his shoulders.”

“Indeed,” said Snape, following him out, the sound of McGonagall’s stifled chuckle trailing after.


	26. Incontrovertible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord returns... sort of.

July 4, 2011

 

“ _How_ did this _happen_?!”

The Ministry official cocked an eyebrow. “What, you mean like...”

Andromeda gave him a withering glare. She was in no mood for bad jokes.

“Ah, well,” the balding man shrunk in front of her, forcibly reminded of the family resemblance. “Sometimes... that is, on rare occasions, things like this can occur.”

“The woman is older than _I_ am!”

“Yes, well, see...” The man’s feet shuffled a bit on the walkway. “That’s precisely why we thought it would be safe to take her off the potions.”

“I see,” Andromeda said evenly, her scowl making the poor man squirm further.

“By the time we realized what had happened, it was too late, and all we could do was let it run its course.” His tone grew pathetically desperate. “Please, Mrs. Tonks. Obviously his parents can’t care for him. Do you really want him to become a ward of the state?”

“You just want me to clean up your mess,” she stated. “So you can sweep it under the rug and go on like it never happened.”

“Madam,” he squeaked. “What’s done is done. We’ve taken measures to ensure it won’t happen again, but this situation must be dealt with. We only want what’s in the best interests of all concerned.”

“Sweetheart, the boy can’t help who his parents are,” Ted said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Andromeda turned on the threshold to look at her husband. “And what if she regains her senses?” she demanded. “Finding out she produced a child with a Muggleborn? She’d stop at nothing to wipe him off the face of the planet, and we’d be caught in the crossfire.”

Ted stepped through the doorway to stand beside her, looking at the bundle the Ministry man held in his arms. “That’s rather my point.” He winked at her. “Besides, you can’t say that’s a danger you haven’t risked before.”

“But that was _my_ child,” she protested, though her conviction was wavering. “ _My_ family.”

“So is he, Dromeda,” Ted said gently.

Andromeda didn’t give up. “We’re too old to be raising another baby. We haven’t even finished helping Nymphadora with hers. And what about Miles?”

“Cassi’s going to Hogwarts this year, and Remus is dead set against having any more,” Ted said. “Miles is grown and taking care of himself. And since when did we become so feeble that we’d turn away an innocent who needs our help?”

Andromeda pursed her lips and turned back to the official. “What’s his name, then?”

One word barely slipped out between the man’s lips, almost inaudible. Andromeda nearly laughed. “Well,” she said after a long moment. “That just figures.”

The official hurried to try to explain. “She said it was the only name she could remember.” His voice got very soft and he looked away as he added, “She thought it was the name of her father.”

This time, Andromeda did laugh. One harsh bark of a laugh.

Ted held out his arms to the man. “Give him here, then.”

The official was quick to oblige. “You’ll take him?”

“Of course we’ll take him,” Ted said. The official looked at Andromeda, who glared at him, but didn’t contradict her husband. “I suppose we’ll get to see if nurture really is stronger than nature,” Ted said, his tone light.

It succeeded in bringing a faint smile to Andromeda’s lips and she looked down at the baby in Ted’s arms. With a small sigh, her anger drained. “At least he might turn out better than my last nephew.”

“Wonderful!” The official hastily pulled out a scroll and quill. “Now, if you’ll just sign here.”

Andromeda took the quill and signed her name, then Ted did the same.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks.” The small man was grinning in an obscenely relieved way. “You’re now officially the guardians of Voldemort Lockhart.” A strangled sound that was probably a laugh escaped his throat. “Good luck,” he added in a heavily ironic tone, then Disapparated.

Ted and Andromeda looked at the newest addition to their family. Little Voldemort looked up at them with black, fathomless eyes—his mother’s eyes—and gurgled.


	27. If You Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna Snape has a fancy for one of her teachers.

November 30, 2013

 

The snow came suddenly that winter. On Friday night, the students went to bed with nothing but a brisk wind outside and on Saturday morning they awoke to a world of white and sunlight.

Luna grinned ecstatically as she looked down from Ravenclaw Tower onto the new blanket of snow, eager to get out into it. A few students were already outside having a snowball fight. Far off on the other side of the lake she could see Professor Weasley out working with his pet dragon, Sasha. She spotted Professor Longbottom hurrying through the snow toward the greenhouses, his arms full of fabric.

Wasting no time, she dressed and went down to the Great Hall to grab a biscuit and swig of pumpkin juice before heading out. No sooner had she stepped foot out of the castle than she was pelted in the face by a snowball.

Laughing with surprise, she shot a glare at a rather smug-looking Teddy Lupin and managed to dodge his next shot.

“Oh, play fair,” her brother Harry yelled, coming to her rescue. “At least let her pick up a weapon!” He shot a snowball at Teddy, but Teddy avoided it easily.

“She’s a Seer, isn’t she?” Teddy teased. “She should have _seen_ that coming!”

“Oh!” Luna huffed with false indignation, stooping to pack a handful of snow. “You know that’s not how it works!” She threw her snowball at Teddy, but it went several meters wide.

“Seven years on the same joke,” said James Potter, casually rolling a snowball around in his hands. “Really, Cowl? Don’t you think it’s time to call it?”

Teddy grinned cheekily and prepared to pelt Luna with another snowball, when his sister Cassi snuck up behind him and dumped a large handful of snow down the back of his robes. He yelped and turned his attention to her, chasing her for a few seconds before Harry and James hit him with simultaneous shots from either side and he tripped and fell face-first in the snow.

Luna ran up to him as he shook the snow from his hair—it was blue today—and wiped his face with his gloved hand.

“Your friends like me better than you,” she said sweetly, looking down at him with an innocent smile.

He rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head as if he was perfectly content to lie in the snow for hours. “That’s only because they know how weak and helpless you are.”

She kicked him in the side, far too lightly to hurt, and said, “Wanna take a walk?”

“Okay,” he said, and was on his feet a second later.

She headed toward the lake and Teddy followed, pausing first to get off one last shot at James before jogging to catch up with her.

Their wandering took them toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest—or rather, to the enormous tree that stood sentry at the tree line like some silent, snow-covered guardian. It was commonly known as the Half-Giant Oak, though it had no proper name. There were those, however, who simply called it Hagrid’s Tree, owing to it having grown out of the ground directly over Rubeus Hagrid’s grave.

It was said amongst the students that the tree grew from the shattered remains of his wand, which were buried with him, hidden inside an old umbrella. The story said that his wand, like all wands, possessed a level of sentience and that it was so distraught when its owner died that it defied all known reason and grew into the tree it once was, so that no one would ever forget the giant of a man to whom it had belonged.

That, at least, was the story.

As she stepped under its snow-laden branches, Luna looked fondly at the trunk, recalling the memories of the man himself which she had inherited from her mother. They seemed to come back whenever she was here.

“I think I would have liked him,” she thought aloud.

“Hm?” said Teddy. He was swinging from one of the low-hanging branches.

She laughed at him. “You look like a monkey.”

He released the branch immediately, landing deftly in the snow. He rubbed the back of his head distractedly, suddenly taking interest in the trunk of the tree.

 _Hmm_ , she thought, grinning as another thread of a certain carefully-guarded secret unraveled for her. _I wonder what type of monkey he is._

Teddy looked over at her out of the corner of his eye, the edge of his mouth beginning to curl up, and Luna got the distinct impression that he knew his secret wasn’t quite as secret as he hoped. Not from her, at least. She shared his conspiratorial grin, a silent promise not to tell on him and the others.

Evidently satisfied, he closed the distance between them, kicking the snow casually as he went.

Somewhere on a branch above them, a bird flew off, knocking snow down onto Luna’s face. She sputtered and tried to wipe it off, but her large snow glove was only spreading it around. Teddy laughed at her predicament, then took off his own glove.

“Here,” he said, and brushed the snow off her skin with his fingers.

“Thanks,” she said, somewhat embarrassed, but then she realized that his fingers hadn’t left her face. She looked up at him and was pleasantly startled to see the strange, contemplative look he was giving her. Or rather, the look he was giving her mouth.

His hand moved to cup her face and he looked from her mouth to her eyes and back. She was frozen in place, her heart suddenly beating like a hummingbird’s wings, unable to look anywhere but his golden-brown eyes, then at his lips as his tongue peeked out momentarily to lick them. It didn’t take her Sight to know with utter certainty what was about to happen.

He leaned in quickly, not giving her a chance to react, and pressed his lips to hers. They were so soft, softer than she would have ever guessed. It was... quite pleasant. Then she suddenly got a distinct sense of déjà vu, which perplexed her to no end. After all, she’d never been kissed before.

Then he pulled back and looked at her, smiling uncertainly, waiting for her reaction.

She didn’t quite know what the right thing to say was, so she just said the first thing that came to her mind.

“You taste sweet,” she said shyly, “like chocolate.” He grinned in amusement, obviously pleased that she hadn’t reacted negatively, but before he could respond, she added, “Like your dad.”

Teddy blinked owlishly. “Did you just... say I taste like my dad?”

Luna blinked back. She had no idea why she’d said that, and she was about to tell him so when suddenly, and with startling force, that vague feeling of déjà vu coalesced into a clear memory. Old furniture, a musty smell, wet tears on her face, and a very warm Uncle Remus in her arms. She shuddered a little inside.

“I think...” she tried, blushing deeply, “... I think my mom once kissed your dad. I just... remembered.”

Teddy stared at her blankly for another long moment, then laughed and threw his arms around her shoulders, heedlessly burying her face in his chest. “Oh, Luna, Luna,” he said, swaying back and forth as she fought for breath against the front of his winter cloak. “Just when I think this whole crazy Snape memory thing can’t possibly surprise me any longer...”

He released her, held her at arms length and looked into her eyes. “It would never work between us, would it?”

Recovering from his disorienting response, she looked at him and felt both deeply embarrassed and strangely relieved. “No,” she said, then giggled. “I suppose not.”

Teddy put his glove back on, then took her hand in his and led her back the way they’d come.

“I suppose if I kissed your sister she’d have the same reaction,” he said casually, not even looking at her as they walked.

Luna laughed. “I think Eileen would hex you if you tried.”

They passed a group of fourth-years, and one of them, a beautiful, tall girl with strawberry blonde hair, smiled at Teddy, then saw Luna, looked at their clasped hands, and her expression soured.

“What was that about?” Teddy wondered after the group had passed.

Luna chuckled. “She likes you, silly.”

Teddy looked at her in astonishment. “What?”

“She’s been giving you that look since her twelfth birthday.”

“What _look_?” Teddy asked. “She smiled is all.”

“Can’t you tell an _I’m yours if you want me_ smile when you see one?”

Teddy looked behind him, utterly baffled. “But she’s... she’s gorgeous.”

Stopping their forward progression, Luna cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

“Well, I know,” he said, making no attempt to sound modest. “But there’s not so bad, and then there’s... well, her.”

Luna let go of his hand and pointed in the direction of the girl in question. “If I’m wrong, you can tell everyone how I totally humiliated myself a moment ago.”

“I think that would embarrass me just as much,” he said, but he was distracted, already walking away. He put on his most charming smile and jogged off, calling out, “Hey, Victoire!”

Luna just shook her head and smiled as she started meandering the way she’d been headed before. She supposed she should be disappointed that her first kiss was such a spectacular failure, but... _No, that’s not true. The kiss was... quite nice._ And it had been bestowed by a good-looking boy with whom she shared a genuine affection. All things considered, it could have been much worse.

It was a bit horrifying that it happened to dredge up such a disturbing memory, though. “Thanks, Mum,” she muttered. And all the worse that she hadn’t caught the wild thought it produced before she blurted it out, thus shattering the mood and ensuring that Teddy Lupin would never again be a viable romantic option for her. _Still..._ She licked her lips and giggled. _Chocolaty._

Oh, who was she kidding? She knew very well that the only reason she’d been flirting with Teddy all year was in a vain attempt to distract herself from an entirely inappropriate crush. She was intelligent enough not to call it love. _I’m fifteen, for Merlin’s sake. What fifteen-year-old knows anything about love? Well, except Dad, but he’s not exactly typical, and that wasn’t exactly normal love._ Never mind the fact that she’d felt this way pretty much her entire life.

Luna looked up to realize that her feet had brought her to the greenhouses. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and shivered. Perhaps a quick warm-up would do her good.

She stepped into the first greenhouse and looked around to find half the plants covered with a shimmering fabric.

“Who is it?” called Professor Longbottom from halfway across the room. She took a few steps closer and peeked around a flutterby bush. “Luna!” he said, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“Just stepping in out of the cold for a minute,” she replied, coming nearer. “What are you doing, Professor?”

He stopped and looked down at her, then said softly, “Luna, I’ve known you since you were born. You don’t have to call me ‘Professor’ when it’s just us.”

“Sorry, Neville,” she said shyly. Her parents had been quite adamant that she and her siblings call all their professors by their proper titles, but she had to admit to not being entirely comfortable with that arrangement. “It’s always felt a bit strange calling you ‘Professor’,” she confided, “when I can so clearly remember what an abysmal student you were.”

He frowned, and her heart started racing from panic. That had not come out at all the way she meant. She opened her mouth to clarify, but couldn’t come up with the right words in time.

“You know,” he said, and a small smile started to creep over his face, “it’s so easy to forget you’re a Snape sometimes. Even at this moment, I can hardly believe it.” He went back to what he’d been doing, wrapping a plant in the shiny fabric. “Yes, I was terrible at Potions,” he said, unashamedly. “I was terrible at most subjects, in fact. But fortunately, I was great”—he plucked a flower from the plant and turned back to her, holding it out—“at Herbology. You see, Luna, you don’t have to be great at everything, despite what your mother may think.” She was sure she blushed as she took the flower. She was, ironically, quite bad at Herbology. “You’re a rare girl, with a rare heart, and you’re growing into a truly remarkable young woman.” She felt her heart sink at the compliment, though she knew that was stupid. But Neville continued. “Do you know what that is?” he asked, pointing to the flower in her hand.

Her mind raced, but plant identification was just not one of her talents. “Er... pretty?”

Neville chuckled, then said, “Pretty, yes, but it’s more than that. When the bloom’s fully opened, it releases its pollen, and the pollen of this particular plant is the key ingredient in the only known cure for an otherwise fatal disease called petulant pustules pox.”

“Which would make this... a moonlight iris,” she said, quite pleased with herself. She was, as it happened, pretty fair at Potions.

Neville nodded. “Very good! Now, would you like to help me finish covering these plants before they all die of frostbite?”

Luna nodded, stuck the flower behind her ear, and took a piece of the fabric. While Neville started wrapping a small plant on the middle table, she went to a plant on the other side, and watched him to see how he was doing it. When he was done with the first, he looked at her to make sure she got the idea. She smiled at him, but—she couldn’t help it—it wasn’t a normal smile. But Neville didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled back and moved on to the next plant.

As she began to wrap the small plant, she chastised herself. He was her teacher, and he obviously didn’t think of her that way. _Growing_ , he’d said. **_Growing_** _into a young woman._ She was only torturing herself. She had no right... But her eyes kept going back to him, watching the careful way he wrapped each plant, watching the tenderness of his hands, the gentleness in his eyes...

She turned her attention back to what she was doing and let out the tiniest of sighs.

 _I’m yours,_ she thought, _if you want me._


	28. Her Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reacts to Luna's choice of husband.

May 29, 2017

 

“We’re in love.”

Hermione looked at Neville and Luna’s clasped hands.

Severus fumed. Raged. Threatened.

Hermione had seen this coming. The glances down the High Table. The not-so-casual strolls.

“How dare you?” Severus seethed. “We trusted you! You taught her! You’re—”

“Far too old for her? Yes.” Neville looked at Hermione.

Hermione remembered: a moment of weakness. Of fear. A prophecy had almost led her to abort her daughter.

Ignorant, Neville had talked her out of it.

Neville had saved Luna’s life before she’d even been born. He’d always cared for her. Protected her.

And now he always would.

Hermione smiled.


	29. Fair Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Luna's wedding, Snape has some words for her groom.

December 20, 2017

 

Neville watched, mesmerized.

He’d watched her grow. He’d seen her born. He’d even named her.

Never in all that time could he have dreamed it would come to this.

Was he doing the right thing? Were his motives as questionable as some implied?

No. He loved her. He always had, though not always like this.

His former terror walked her down the aisle, and Neville had eyes only for her. But when he laid her hand in Neville’s, Snape leaned in and whispered his old warning.

“Take care of her, or I’ll kill you.”

Now, like then, Neville believed him.


	30. Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort Lockhart finds out who he is and decides to visit his parents.

July 4, 2022

 

Jack had heard his parents whispering about it for weeks, always when they thought he wasn’t listening. What should they do? What should they tell him? That sort of thing. Jack just wished he knew what _it_ was.

The only major event coming up that he could think of was his Hogwarts letter, as it was nearly his eleventh birthday, but he couldn’t think of any reason they’d be worried about breaking that news to him. Growing up among wizards, he’d known about that for years. In fact, he was quite looking forward to it.

He couldn’t really conspire with anyone on this mystery, as there were no other kids in the house. Not that he was an only child; it’s just that none of his siblings had ever lived at home at the same time.

Jack’s older sister, Nymphadora, was the child of their parents’ youth. Fifty-one now and head of the Auror Office, Dora had begun her adult life decades before Jack had even been born. Through her, he had two nieces and a nephew who were all old enough to be his parents.

His older brother, Miles, was adopted, a werewolf taken in by his parents after the big battle at the end of the war. His son, Edward, was only two years younger than Jack. Which was almost like having a younger brother, except that he didn’t live in the same house as Jack.

On the morning of his eleventh birthday, Jack’s parents had still apparently not decided what they would do, and now their uncertainty was showing more blatantly. He came in for breakfast (Belgian waffles, his favorite) to find them joyful and well-wishing, but with an edge of something not quite right in their demeanors.

“Happy birthday, Jack,” said his dad. Ted was grey-haired and wrinkled, but still strong, and his smile lit up a room. Normally. Right now, it looked nervous. “Er, there’s something Dromeda and I’d like to talk to you about.”

Jack’s mum, Andromeda, brought his breakfast over along with some juice and syrup. She had a lot of wrinkles, too, but her hair was still mostly brown. As she set his plate down, she glanced at the window with what looked to Jack like nervous expectation. “Yes. I suppose we can’t put it off any longer—”

At that moment, a large barn owl flew through the open window, dropped a letter right on top of Jack’s waffles (which, luckily, he’d not yet applied syrup to), and flew out.

Ted sighed. “Better open it, then.”

Grinning madly, Jack glanced at the Hogwarts seal, then ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

_(Order of Merlin, First Class)_

 

Mr. Lockhart,

You are hereby informed that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape,

_Deputy Headmaster_

 

Jack frowned. “Mr. Lockhart? They’ve sent me someone else’s letter!” He knew the contents of his own would likely be exactly the same, but it was the principle of the thing. He wanted _his_ letter.

The lines around Andromeda’s mouth deepened. “I’m afraid they haven’t.”

Jack looked at the front of the envelope. “Yes, they have. See here. It’s addressed to _V. Lockhart_. Though they’ve got the address right otherwise.” Which was curious.

Ted and Andromeda shared a serious look. “Jack—er, son—er...” Ted fumbled, and then gave up and got on with it. “We haven’t entirely been straight with you. The truth is, your name isn’t really Jack Tonks.”

“And we’re not really your parents,” Andromeda added. “We’re your aunt and uncle.”

Jack looked between them, trying to figure out if this was some kind of birthday gag. “Then... what would my real name be?”

Closing her eyes as if bracing herself to admit something loathsome, Andromeda said, “Your real name is Voldemort Lockhart.”

The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “Voldemort? As in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Andromeda nodded, making a face like she might soon be sick. “Yes. Your mother is my sister, Bellatrix.”

Jack nodded. “The one who’s locked up in St. Mungo’s. The one that no one ever talks about.”

“Yes.”

“But she’s been in there for decades. How could she be my mother?” he pressed. This couldn’t be true. It was just too mad.

Ted looked uncomfortable. “She and a man named Gilderoy Lockhart, er, get on well. There was... sort of... an accident...”

Jack grimaced. “You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Andromeda.

A sudden spark of rage flew through him. “Then why haven’t you told me before?! Why did you pretend you were my parents all this time?!”

“Easy.” Ted laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder, but he shrugged him off. “Your parents couldn’t take care of you, so the people in charge brought you to us. And you’ve been as good as our son since then. It doesn’t matter where you came from.”

“Of course it matters!” Jack snapped. Andromeda glared at him, as she always did when he lost his temper, but she didn’t stop him this time. “They’re my parents! I have a right to know who they are!”

“Your parents,” Andromeda said in a firm, hard tone, “are lunatics. If they saw you, they’d have no idea who you are. If they were to suddenly regain their senses, your mother would be more likely to murder you than embrace you.”

Jack seethed, thinking this over. “So?”

Andromeda let out a breath. “Listen to me. I was raised in a family that was bigoted, violent, and obsessed with Dark magic and blood purity, and Bellatrix was the worst of them all. I got away from them the first chance I could, and I never looked back. It will benefit you nothing to seek them out.”

Slowly, Jack nodded. “Maybe. But I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not.” He met her eyes. “I want to see them.”

Ted frowned. “Jack—”

“Today.”

Jack had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and Ted and Andromeda could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. An hour later, they arrived at St. Mungo’s and silently made their way to the Janus Thickey Ward. The door was locked, so they knocked and waited for a kindly-looking Healer to open it.

“Here to visit one of the patients?” she asked.

“Two,” Ted answered. “Bellatrix Lestrange and Gilderoy Lockhart.”

The Healer looked confused but pleased. “How kind of you. Those two never get visitors, you know. This way, please.” She stood aside so they could enter and locked the door behind them. As she led them through the large room, she said conversationally, “Are you relatives?”

“Yes,” said Andromeda. “Bellatrix is my sister.” After a moment, she added, “And this boy is their son.”

The Healer stopped so quickly that Ted nearly ran into her. “Their son?” she gasped, looking at Jack with wide, wondering eyes. “Oh my. Oh my, yes, of course, I should have seen it immediately. His hair, her eyes... oh yes. But dear, you mustn’t expect much from them, you know.”

“I know,” Jack replied. “I just want to see them.”

She nodded, looking as if she wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, but at least she didn’t say anything.

The room had a slightly less sterile feel to it than the rest of the hospital. There were personal items lying around, photos and hand-knit blankets and the like. Jack saw a young wizard lying in a bed, not moving, and a middle-aged witch humming to herself and talking to a pillow.

They approached a table where four people were playing Exploding Snap—or some modified, hospital-approved version of it, anyway. “Hello, dears,” the Healer chirped. “You’ve got visitors. Isn’t that lovely?”

The people at the table didn’t seem to hear her. One of them was sitting motionless, only his eyes moving sluggishly from here to there with no real purpose. The woman beside him smiled indulgently at everything, occasionally offering encouragement about nothing that Jack could follow. They both had a bland sort of appearance which had probably been pleasant-looking once—and might even now if they didn’t look so vacant. Jack could tell these two were not his parents.

An older man who looked around Ted’s age turned wide, glassy eyes on Jack. “Oh, hello. Are you fans? Of course you are. How many autographs would you like?”

Jack frowned at the man. His blond hair was going grey, but he was handsome for his age. The broad smile he’d plastered on hung in the air between them like his unanswered question. “Sure,” Jack said uncertainly. “I’ll take one.”

Clearly delighted, the man rummaged through a stack of old photos by his feet and handed Jack six. To his dismay, Jack saw that the signature was indeed _Gilderoy Lockhart_. He looked again at the blond man, and his heart sank. His father was a grinning, mindless fool.

A mad giggle drew his attention to an older woman with sharp features and black eyes. She wore a dark grey dressing gown and had her feet pulled up in her chair so she could clutch her knees. With a start, Jack saw that she nearly could have been Andromeda’s twin, but for a few changes. “Do I know you?” she asked, and Jack felt a stupid surge of hope before realizing she was looking at Andromeda.

“Yes, Bellatrix,” Andromeda said wearily. “I’m your sister.”

“Ooh!” Bellatrix squirmed in her chair, playing with the word. “Sister, sister, what a blister.”

Andromeda sighed.

“And who’s this strapping young lad, then?” asked Gilderoy. “A fan, are you? Come for an autograph?”

Jack’s heart sunk even lower. He held up the stack of photos. “Got one, thanks.”

Gilderoy looked at the photos with surprise. “So you have! Bella, dear, do you see? He’s already got some.”

Bellatrix’s hand snaked over to Gilderoy’s lap and grabbed him through his gown. “I’ve got some, too,” she said, leering at him and licking her lips.

“For heaven’s sake,” Andromeda said, looking away in disgust.

Gilderoy acted like he didn’t even notice Bellatrix’s hand. He held out one of the game pieces to Jack. “There’s a good lad. Put this away, would you?”

Echoing Andromeda’s sentiment, Jack sighed and took the piece. Then he tossed it on the table and walked away.

They were silent until they were back in the car, then Ted turned to him. “Jack, it’s not—”

“That’s not my name.”

“What?” Ted asked.

“You said yourself, that’s not my name.”

Ted and Andromeda shared a look, their gazes flickering back toward the hospital. “But you saw—”

“They’re pathetic and ridiculous, yes,” he said calmly. “But I’m not going to deny who I am or where I come from. All that would do is give people something to use against me. So from now on, I’m Voldemort Lockhart, and I don’t care who knows it.”

Maybe she could see the sense in his reasoning, because Andromeda didn’t even seem upset, more just slightly annoyed. “Do you really mean us to call you Voldemort?”

“No.” He thought about it. “Just call me Voldy.”


	31. Voldy's Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort Lockhart gets Sorted.

September 1, 2022

 

The applause for the newest Gryffindor died down and no one seemed to notice Professor Snape take an unusually long pause before announcing the next name.

“Lockhart, Voldemort!”

The Great Hall erupted in gasps and murmurs as a boy with shiny golden curls and sharp cheekbones made his way up to the stool, strolling casually, as if he didn’t notice the ruckus his name had caused.

Headmistress McGonagall shouted, “Quiet!” and the mutterings stopped at once as everyone’s attention focused on the boy, watching carefully as Snape placed the Hat on him.

 _My, my_ , the Hat said in his head. _You are an interesting one, aren’t you? Let’s see... Plenty of ambition... a desire to prove yourself, yes... and you’re sharp... But you’ve got a good heart, and a good head on your shoulders.... Heh heh. I’m in a position to know...._

Voldy rolled his eyes and thought, _If it’s all the same, I’d rather not be in the same house as the other Voldemort._

The Hat shivered and made a chuckling noise in his head. _Really? Well, if you’re certain, then it must be_ “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The crowd erupted into more gasps and, from the Hufflepuff table, hesitant, confused applause.

Voldy pretended not to notice the way everyone else at the table inched away from him and stared while he watched the rest of the Sorting. When the food appeared, he loaded his plate immediately and tore into a turkey leg with gusto. After several moments, apparently satisfied that he wouldn’t turn on them all, the other Hufflepuffs began to see to their own meals.

The girl sitting across from him took several minutes summoning her courage, then said, “That’s... an unusual name.”

Voldy smiled and looked at her. “Named after the Dark Lord,” he said unashamedly, knowing full well that the girl knew that.

The girl blanched. “How did you, er... come by that name?” It was certainly a fair question. After the war, there’d been a slew of kids named Harry and Ginny and lots of other names of heroes who’d died, but not many people chose to name their offspring after the genocidal maniac who nearly destroyed their world.

Voldy waved the turkey leg in the air as he launched into a speech he’d been just waiting for his chance to make. “See, my mum was one of his followers, and she was always a bit nutters, but when Professor Longbottom Obliviated her, she _really_ went round the bend. Ended up in St. Mungo’s and eventually had disturbing crazy-person sex with my dad.”

The girl blushed furiously at his frank description.

“Your parents are crazy?” asked a boy beside him.

Voldy nodded. “Completely barking. Which is for the best, really, because if they weren’t I wouldn’t exist.”

“Why’s that?” Another boy had joined the conversation, and several others were looking their way.

“Well, he’s a Muggleborn, isn’t he?” Voldy explained. “If my mum had been in her right mind, she’d have sooner murdered him than shagged him.”

The girl across the table was still blushing at his language, but said, “Lockhart... sounds familiar. What did your father do?”

“Well, he was a teacher for one year—the last before he went crazy. But mostly he was a pompous fraud who messed with people’s memories so he could claim their achievements for his own. Also, he wrote books.”

“Oh!” the girl gasped. “Gilderoy Lockhart, right?” Voldy nodded. “My mum loved him! She’s got his whole collection in the library at home. I’ve seen his picture on the book jackets. He is... rather handsome.”

She smiled shyly. Voldemort rolled his beetle-black eyes.

“Why weren’t you in Slytherin?” asked a third-year boy suspiciously. “Trick the Hat, did you?”

Voldy glared at the boy, about to say something snarky, but a girl beside him spoke first. “You can’t trick the Hat,” she said, making the boy sound stupid for even suggesting it. “And just because his family was bad doesn’t mean he is. Isn’t Hufflepuff about giving people a fair chance before judging them? I thought you’d have known that already, as you’re clearly not a first-year like me.”

The boy shut up, and no one else suggested Voldy might be a snake in their midst. To his face, anyway.

“Thanks for that,” he said to the girl once the conversation around them had moved on. He hadn’t needed her help, but he was polite enough to thank her for giving it anyway.

“I didn’t say it entirely for you,” she confessed. “My uncle had that post just before your dad. He... didn’t go out on the best terms.”

“Ah,” Voldy said. A kindred spirit, perhaps? He offered her his hand, flashing a white smile. “I go by Voldy, by the way.”

With an amused smile, she took it. “Quirina Quirrell, but everyone calls me Rina.”


End file.
